Thaw
by boogima
Summary: After an unfortunate mishap has forced Elizabeth Bennet to marry a certain haughty gentleman from Derbyshire, she writes letters to her sister Jane, trying to come to terms with her new role as a wife and the Mistress of Pemberley. Regency E&D, Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone! This is a new WIP of mine, a short(ish) Regency forced marriage scenario, written in epistolary form. The story will comprise of maybe 10 to 12 letters (or maybe more, we'll see) Elizabeth sends to Jane after something has happened to force her to marry a certain haughty gentleman from Derbyshire.

My thanks to Gayle who has once again bravely agreed to tame my unruly grammar, any mistakes left are entirely my doing. Don't forget to drop me a line after you've finished - all comments are much appreciated! :)

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_The Althorp Inn, December 30__th __1812_

_My dearest Jane,_

_A thousand apologies for the gloomy epistle I sent you last. If for some reason you have not yet received it, I humbly beg of you to burn it without so much as a peek when you do. But of course, I know you have. While being in Town felt to me much like being at the far end of the world, I am sure the Royal Mail does not share my sentiments._

_It is a wretched beginning indeed that after less than a fortnight of married life, I should have already turned into one of those acrimonious old wives whose letters are filled with nothing but complaints & grievances. I shall try to mend my ways, I promise. In my defense it must be said that when I penned my last, I was quite convinced that I had sunk into the Dark Depths of Despair. But I have since come to my senses, much thanks to our dear sister Mary – she was kind enough to remind me that the only place I have sunk into recently is Mr. Thompson's old pond. How sweet of her, do you not agree?_

_As I am sure you can imagine, I was very grieved indeed to find out that Miss Bingley should have become so very ill so soon after our departure. I suppose it was not __entirely__ unexpected – she did look a bit wan when I last saw her at the wedding breakfast. I only hope her illness will not keep her brother in Town too long; it seems very untoward that they should have travelled thither in the first place, her being so Very Gravely Ill. Do tell me again, what malady is it that ails her so?_

_I cannot express how happy I was to hear that little Thomas has started talking. I can only imagine how many tales he must have to tell, having looked at the world around him for two whole years without being able to tell a soul about all that he has seen. Tell me, are the Gardiners with you still or have they departed already? I should so have liked to spend more time with them, to spend one last Christmas at Longbourn. Aunt has written a long letter to me, describing in great detail all her memories of the village of Lambton and its surroundings, no doubt trying to ease my mind and to give me something happy to look forward to. I dare say she has succeeded – Lambton sounds like a dear little place._

_We are currently in Althorp, which I am told is a little more than halfway from London to P. I do not know if I long to see the place or dread it. We are to leave here in the morning and should reach P before nightfall, if the weather allows it. My husband sits across the room from me, reading a book – or at least graciously pretending to read, for I do not think he has turned the page once since he sat down. We have not exchanged too many words since that unfortunate quarrel on our first night as a married couple; it seems wiser to be quiet. It feels odd, still, to be in a room alone with him, a virtual stranger with whom I am to spend the rest of my life._

_The days have grown steadily colder since we left Hertfordshire. This morning, the air was so cold that I could see my own breath as we stood in front of the inn, waiting to board the carriage – it was supposed to be waiting for us, not the other way around, but there had been some last moment mishap. Needless to say, my husband was quite displeased; he did not say much, but his expression bore a great resemblance to a storm cloud. I have come to know that that is his way. The bricks and sheepskins kept us warm enough on our journey here, but I do believe that if it gets much colder, we might see some snow before long._

_I will end here; the maid has arrived to announce that supper will be served soon. I will write to you again as soon as we reach P, though I am sure that anything I have to say of it will pale in comparison to Miss Bingley's meticulous descriptions of its many charms. Please let me hear from you again soon, and give my love etc. to Mama, Papa, Mary, Kitty, Lydia and everyone else who is inclined to receive it – but not to Lettice Thompson, mind you. If she asks after me, I advise you to lift your chin as high as you can and walk right past her._

_Affectionately yours,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, January 2__nd__ 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_I am sitting at a window, gazing at a view that I am convinced would have Lettice Thompson wishing it had been her in the pond that day, instead of myself. Outside the wind is sweeping through the gardens, coming and going in furious gusts, making even the great Spanish chestnuts tremble and bend their backs like old, weary men. I long for warmer days when I can escape this house and sit writing under the chestnuts instead of watching them from afar. I wonder if sitting under a tree with a book or a paper and a quill is considered fitting behaviour for the mistress of Pemberley?_

_There was no letter from you awaiting me when we arrived the day before yesterday – I hope it is due to some delay in the post and not because you are afraid to write me after that ghastly missive I sent to you while in Town._

_I have spent the morning today touring the house with the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds. You can guess how much it pains me to ever admit Miss Bingley's being right about anything or anyone, but I confess that I am glad that she was right about my husband's library – like the chestnuts, it is truly magnificent. And it is as well that it should be so grand, if we are to spend all our evenings in the same manner as we have done thus far. Alas, it seems that my powers of deduction have yet again been bested by Miss Bingley, for when we stayed at Netherfield, she professed me to be a great reader who has no pleasure in anything else – I did not admit to it then, but it seems now that she might have had the right of it, after all._

_As you will remember from that letter we shall not mention again after this, my husband has declared himself less than pleased with the idea of us entertaining my relatives here at P. __His __relatives, however, seem to be another matter entirely. I have been told to expect Miss Darcy to arrive tomorrow afternoon, along with a cousin of the Darcys, a colonel in His Majesty's army. Mrs. Reynolds mentioned in passing that my husband had invited the colonel's parents as well, but that they were unable to come. I wonder if it is on my account? After all, I have been told by __some__ that a marriage to me could be considered __a __degradation__ and that there might be some __family obstacles __that might have prevented our marrying altogether in other circumstances. I must wonder why __some__ think that a marriage would ever have even entered the discussion in other circumstances?_

_But I digress. As I said, I am to expect Miss Darcy and the illustrious colonel tomorrow, and I confess to feeling somewhat daunted. The house is so big that I can barely find my way from the front door to my chambers. What if I get lost? Would not that make a fine impression? Mrs. Reynolds asked me if I had any preferences for the menu tomorrow and, as I did not have the vaguest idea of what sort of dishes would be considered suitably grand by my husband, I simply asked if Mrs. Reynolds knew what Miss Darcy's favourites were. She seemed pleased with my answer, so at least on that account I believe I will be saved from any embarrassment. _

_I am half agony, half hope when it comes to the arrival of my new sister. Agony, because I fear that our friend Mr. W was as right about her character as he was about my husband's. Hope, because I dearly hope that he was not! There are several portraits of her hanging in different rooms of the house – one is looking down at me from above a mantelpiece as we speak – and I have spent a good part of my tour this morning staring at them, trying to decide her character. The one in the portrait gallery made me shiver a little, and after seeing it, I felt confident that Mr. W had been right. But then the one in the music room made me think that I should give her a big hug & a pat on the head for comfort. I wonder which painter has hit closer to the mark?_

_Do write to me, Jane dear, and tell me all the news from Longbourn. I want to hear every significant thing – and every insignificant one, too. Has Mr. Bingley returned yet? Is Mary still reading Fordyce or have you caught her sneaking about with a copy of Udolpho__ hidden in the folds of her apron? Have Kitty and Lydia stopped bickering over my green frock? If not, tell them that I have changed my mind and will take it with me on my next visit, whenever that may be. And if Papa is still bent on blaming himself for what has happened, do tell him to stop immediately and to write to me as soon as he can. I miss him dreadfully._

_I have the strangest feeling that I am being spied upon. I will close now & report back to you as soon as I have caught the culprit._

_Yours ever,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, January 4__th__ 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_I have received your letter (finally – there had been some confusion on the way, and it had been quite misdirected), read it thrice over and still I am not sure what to think of it. Are you sure that Miss Bingley really means to say that none of their party will return to Hertfordshire this winter? Or could it rather be that __she __thinks that they __should__ not return? Truly, Jane, I never heard of a doctor who claimed country air to be bad for anyone's constitution! And even if Miss Bingley insists that it is so, what does it signify to her brother? Mr. Bingley is not ill, is he? He seemed perfectly healthy and unharmed by the Hertfordshire air the last time I saw him._

_As for Miss Bingley's allusions to any alliance anticipated between her brother and Miss Darcy, I do not believe a word of it. I have spent most of yesterday and the entire morning today in the company of said lady and not once has she mentioned Mr. Bingley.__I__mentioned him in passing yesterday, but she only nodded and smiled, more out of politeness, I think, than of any great interest in hearing news of him. Oh, Jane dearest, do not let Miss Bingley's venomous words poison your mind. I am sure that Mr. Bingley will return any day now – and if he does not, perchance you might consider spending a few weeks with the Gardiners? I am sure little Thomas and his sisters would love to spend more time with Cousin Jane._

_Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, along with Mrs. Annesley, the lady with whom Miss Darcy has been living in London, arrived yesterday afternoon with much less commotion than I had expected. My husband was acting uncommonly impatient the whole morning, pacing back and forth from one window to another, looking at his pocket watch every half-minute. I could understand his uneasiness – the winds were still high, and it had started to snow the previous night. If it had been __you __in that carriage, I know I would have been wretched with worry until I saw you arrive safely to us. I almost felt like saying some words of comfort, but what is one to say in a situation like ours? It seems to me that every time we speak of anything other than the most mundane matters, an argument of some sort ensues._

_The morning seemed to draw on forever, but in the end our guests did arrive, not much late and mostly unaffected by the weather. I feel rather foolish now for ever having fretted over their reception of my person. Colonel Fitzwilliam is about thirty, not what I would call handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman. If there are family obstacles to my marriage to Mr. Darcy, he is certainly not one of them. Miss Darcy's opinions on the matter are more difficult to decipher. She speaks very little, and when she thinks we are not looking, her wary gaze travels from myself to her brother and then back to me again. One thing I can tell for certain is that Mr. W has greatly mislead us in his description of her character – so much so that I wonder if he has not done it for some clandestine purpose of his own. Miss Darcy is shy, painstakingly so. I imagine she would not __dare __to be proud, even should she wish it._

_My husband's behaviour continues to perplex me. Dinner last night was a pleasant affair – not once since I left Hertfordshire have I been half so well entertained as I was last night. Unlike his cousin, the colonel proved himself to be a great conversationalist. We talked of the differences between Hertfordshire and Derbyshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music. Even Miss Darcy seemed to enjoy the conversation, being so bold as to nod every now and then to agree with something her cousin said and even offering a smile or two. But not my husband. He just sat at the end of the table in all his austerity, giving clipped answers whenever his cousin tried to include him in the conversation. Perhaps he is displeased with my crude country manners?_

_Oh, Jane, I try to understand him, but I do not get on at all! I would have thought that he would have been pleased to have some company besides myself. We have sat in silence for days on end, looking at the walls or pretending to read books, trying to avoid conversation. It must have been as straining to him as it has been for me. And yet, instead of rejoicing at the first chance of easy, pleasant conversation, he chose to sulk all night. The colonel seemed to find his brooding silence amusing, but perhaps it is because he has known my husband so long and is, therefore, used to being at the receiving end of his infuriating stares?_

_Remember when I told you in my last that I had an odd feeling that I was being spied upon? Well, as soon as I had closed my letter to you, I started a thorough investigation on the matter. I did not catch the spy that day, but I found biscuit crumbs and two dead dragonflies (!) under the piano forte in the music room – a telltale sign of mischief, do you not agree? With the arrival of our guests I have not had the time yet, but I have every plan to catch the criminal mastermind as soon as I have a morning all to myself. I intend to leave a plate of biscuits under the piano forte and wait and see who will crawl below the instrument to pilfer them. Our butler, Mr. Parker? Bonaparte's spies? Or perhaps my husband has a secret penchant for biscuits? Whoever it is, I plan to catch them and punish them mercilessly. After all, I have quite an infamous reputation already – I might as well live up to it._

_Yours affectionately,_

_E.D._

_P.S. Do give my love etc. to everyone – despite being mad, bad and dangerous to know, I am quite full of fond feelings when it comes to my family._

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><p>* <em>Half agony, half hope...<em> -line shamelessly stolen from _Persuasion._

* In 1812, Lady Caroline Lamb famously declared Lord Byron _mad, bad and dangerous to know_.


	2. Chapter 2

Much, much thanks to everyone who had reviewed the first installment & to Gayle, my beta extraordinaire. Here's part 2 of Thaw, I hope you'll like it:)

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_Pemberley House, January 7__th__ 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_What a happy surprise awaited me this morning when I opened your letter and found myself in possession of not only one but three letters from home! I am so glad you were able to convince Papa to write a few lines, and I was quite impressed to see that Lydia, too, had taken the time to write to her poor, old, married sister. I have to confess, however, that my delight in seeing her taking up such a useful pastime was somewhat diminished after perusing the contents of her missive – did you know that the latest rumours have it that I was never actually __in__ Mr. Thompson's pond but rather waited in the woods for Mr. Darcy to approach and then, after seeing that he was coming in my direction, wet my dress and pretended that I had fainted? Who knew I was such a devious creature? I certainly had no idea of it._

_Apart from a small army of servants bustling about the house, I am all alone this afternoon. The ever-present winds seem to have abated for a day at least, and my husband and the colonel are gone to tour the estate. Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley have gone to Lambton to visit the milliner's and some other shops. I was asked to join them, but declined – I thought that after four days of straining to overcome her shyness and be sociable for my sake, my new sister deserved a little respite from my company. I would very much like to see Lambton, but I suppose I will have time for that later. More time than I really wish to think of._

_As I have some time for myself today, I have finally set my trap for the Dragonfly Spy. I have placed a whole plate of freshly baked gingerbread under the piano forte, and am now sitting in the room next to the music room, the door left slightly ajar so I can see if anyone comes in. It has been a half an hour already and no one has yet showed up, but I am convinced that the scent of cinnamon wafting through the air will tempt the culprit to show himself eventually. He had best make his move soon, though, or there is a good chance that there will be nothing left once he arrives. The scent really is __quite__ delightful._

_Parker has just come to announce that a carriage has been seen approaching the house. Who can it be? Or is Parker just trying to lure me away from the room so he can sneak into the next room to purloin the gingerbread? I suppose there is no helping it; I must go and greet the mysterious guests. I will tell you later of whether someone has actually arrived or if I have simply fallen victim to Parker's cunning ploys._

_Dear Jane. Since writing the above, something most unexpected has happened. It is late at night, but I am too restless to sleep. If my eyesight is ruined due to writing in the fading light of the candle, we have Lady Catherine de Bourgh to thank for it._

_As I am sure you remember, our cousin Mr. Collins was quite upset at my union with Mr. Darcy. Shortly before he stormed out of Longbourn in November, he declared to me that his Esteemed Patroness – and now, to the infinite delight of both myself and said lady, my aunt – Lady Catherine de Bourgh would be quite displeased with my marrying her nephew. _

_As, despite our cousin's ominous threats, I did not hear a word from her ladyship before the wedding, I did not spare the matter much thought. This afternoon, however, has taught me that making idle threats is not something we can count among our dear cousin's many faults, after all. Lady Catherine is, indeed, Most Seriously Displeased with my marriage – or, as she prefers to call it, __that patched-up business with her poor nephew__ – and has now taken the trouble of disrupting her visit with Lord and Lady F at Ashbourne to come here and personally inform me of her displeasure. _

_Oh, Jane, I confess I am so vexed that even mother would be proud of me. On the matter of our marriage being a patched-up business, I am inclined to agree with her ladyship. As for the rest of what she had to express, not so much. I will not repeat all of the things she had to say of my person; suffice it to say that I have never been so thoroughly insulted. While quite adept at slandering me, I am sure that even Lettice Thompson would find that there is still a great deal more she could learn from Lady Catherine de Bourgh._

_According to my new aunt, not only have I lured my husband to marry me with my feminine Arts and Allurements (I was tempted to laugh at this – if my husband did not find me handsome enough to tempt him in a ballroom, I dare say finding me soaking wet and covered in mud did little to improve his opinion!), I have also ruined forever the hopes of another young woman – Miss Anne de Bourgh. I am told that it was the fondest wish of both Lady Catherine and my husband's mother that my husband marry Miss de Bourgh. I wonder if it was the fondest wish of my husband as well? Perhaps that would explain his sour mood of late._

_Alas, while my husband might have a tendre for his cousin, it seems that there is little love lost between him and his aunt. He and the colonel arrived from their tour of the estate just in time to hear some of the more memorable things their aunt had to say to me – and I confess that I never imagined I could be as pleased to see my husband as I was that moment. _

_To the utter dismay of Lady Catherine and to my unexpected delight, it turns out that the only person my husband allows to decry my connections is – himself. I know that he is as little pleased to be married to me as I am to be married to him, and he has made his thoughts of my family abundantly clear. And yet to his aunt he showed nothing of it. Instead, he declared that I was a gentleman's daughter and that if __he__ does not object to my connections, they can be nothing to __his aunt__. It was truly quite impressive. As disagreeable as my husband can be, he does have his gentlemanlike moments._

_At present, the recalcitrant aunt rests in one of the more distant guestrooms, to be sent back to Ashbourne in the morning. She claims she would have gone in any case because her friends at A would miss her, but the colonel tells me that it is unlikely that she would ever have bothered to travel in the dead of winter if it were only for the purpose of a social call._

_I am at a loss as to why she has come. If there were some way to undo all that has happened, I would do it – even at the risk of pleasing Lady Catherine. But I am married. There is nothing to be done for it. Like the rest of us, she will simply have to live with it. _

_With no winds sweeping through the valley tonight, the house is eerily quiet, and my candle has nearly burned out. Next door to me sleeps my husband, for better, for worse. After supper, I was summoned to his study to hear an unprecedented apology. He said he hoped I was not too badly wounded by the reprehensible conduct of his aunt. I told him that with such charming relatives of his own, it was no wonder he found mine so lacking in decorum. I now rather regret my impertinence._

_I will close now & see if sleep will find me._

_Affectionately, your very obstinate and headstrong sister,_

_E.D._

_P.S. It has just occurred to me that unless the servants have found it and removed it, the plate of gingerbread is still under the piano forte. I am sure Lady Catherine would disapprove._

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_Pemberley House, January 9__th__ 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Lady Catherine is gone back to Ashbourne and P is quiet and calm again. As if somehow aware of her ladyship's departure, the sun has finally ventured out of the cover of the clouds this morning and the air is crisp and bright. Bundled up in my warmest clothes, I was out of the doors as soon as I had finished breaking my fast. In the gardens, everything is covered in a pristine sheet of snow, so bright in the light of the winter sun that staring at it for too long a time could render one quite blind, I am sure. _

_Some of the lanes had been swept clean by the gardeners and I spent a good hour outside, walking between the snowy trees and flowerbeds until my toes were quite numb from the cold. Mrs. Reynolds gave me what I imagine to be her sternest look when she saw me coming in from the outdoors, and I courteously attempted to look as penitent as I could – but truly, I could not feel very repentant. The clear air has helped me to sort out my thoughts, and I feel better now than I have in days. I can even feel thankful towards Lady Catherine. For all the unpleasantness that her visit brought upon us, I was glad to find out that in the eyes of the world, at least, my husband plans to stand by me. _

_I am happy that you are planning to take on my advice and visit the Gardiners. The children will be delighted to have your company – and I am sure nothing could please our ill friend Miss B better than seeing her Dear Jane again. She did say that she longed for your company, did she not? And she must be feeling quite lonely, having been so ill these many weeks. Indeed, it is most convenient. The last two and twenty years have proved you quite resistant to any maladies caused by country air and, unlike her friends in London, you can therefore visit with her as often as you like without being in danger of catching whatever it is that ails her._

_I am enclosing a small gift to you so you can see how, despite my manifold complaints, married life has improved my character. Relieved to see a certain lady depart the grounds of the estate, Mrs. Annesley, Miss Darcy & I spent a quiet afternoon yesterday embroidering. You of all people know my tendency for haphazard stitches and unfinished work, but Mrs. Annesley has proved herself to be quite the patient teacher. I advise you to pay particular attention to the little roses in the corners – I have mastered an entire new pattern!_

_Mrs. Annesley is a genteel, agreeable sort of woman, with a great fondness for all things practical. She is in her thirties, I believe, widowed at an early age, and has been with the Darcys since the past summer. She is rather too serious for my taste – when I told her the story of Mary, Kitty and the Shrewsbury cakes, her only thought was of how awful it was that a whole pound of salt had been wasted in the attempt – but for all her fine embroidery skills and gentle kindness towards Miss Darcy, I am willing to forgive her for it._

_Miss Darcy, I think, is starting to warm towards me. She has gone from answering my questions to occasionally posing a few of her own – and she had the courtesy to giggle when I told her and Mrs. A that Aunt Phillips did not visit for a month after Mama served her those cakes. _

_Oh, Jane, I believe I will make a dear friend of her yet. If her brother is of a mind to allow it, of course. Yesterday at dinner, I asked Miss Darcy if she thought we might have Shrewsbury cakes for dessert, and she nearly choked on her wine. The colonel laughed, but my husband looked most alarmed – perhaps he thinks I am a bad influence on his dear sister?_

_I will close now & write to you again as soon as I have received your next. Perhaps by then I will be addressing my letters to Gracechurch Street? In the meanwhile, give my love etc. to everyone at home._

_Yours ever,_

_E.D._


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for taking three weeks to post, work has been crazy. Thanks to everyone who had commented on the previous part, and to Gayle for her diligence, speed and telling me the truth about turning sixty.

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_Pemberley House, January 15__th__ 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and comfortably settled in the blue room on Gracechurch Street. In my imagination you are sitting by the window right now, looking out at the bustling street or writing a long letter to me. So many happy memories are attached to that little room that I love it almost as well as our old chamber in L. Do you remember that time we hid in the wardrobe when Mr. C came to call upon you? To this day, I am sure that Aunt knew we were in there but was kind enough not to inform mother of it. I think it quite likely I might have suffered apoplexy if I had had to listen to him recite another one of his pretty verses – and you, my dear sister, might now be married to the worst poet in all of England!_

_I am sorry to have alarmed you so with my account of Lady C's visit – truly, there is nothing to worry about. She has offended me with her words, but she has not injured my spirit. Miss de Bourgh might have been disappointed in her hopes, but it was not of my doing; no amount of scorn from her mother will persuade me to believe otherwise._

_On a happier note, I am proud to inform you that I have caught the Dragonfly Spy! His name is Samuel Reynolds, and he is a respectable gentleman of six and a half. In the end, catching him turned out to be the easiest thing – when I found him, he was hanging from one of my husband's bookshelves, the ladder having slipped from under his feet, so there was very little he could do to escape my notice. Nevertheless, I ended up wishing that I had had a few biscuits or a slice of gingerbread with me when I found him, for by the time I had rescued him from his perilous situation, the poor little lad was quite distraught. I dare say he will not try to climb the bookshelves again any time soon._

_He sat on my lap for a quarter of an hour at least before he calmed down enough to tell me who he was and what he was doing in the library. It was a good thing that I had one of my newly embroidered handkerchiefs with me – though I do find it quite unlikely that little Mr. Reynolds cared very much for my new, sophisticated rose pattern at all. After he stopped crying, he confessed to me that he had been told in a Very Strict Manner not to leave the servants' quarters, and asked if I was very angry with him and if I was planning on sending him back to Bath. I told him I had no such plans which seemed to relieve him a great deal – apparently That Tommy Graham is someone he would rather not share a home with again. _

_Now, I have not a clue of who That Tommy Graham is, but what I __do__ know is that his crimes are heavy indeed. When Mr. Reynolds lived in Bath, Mr. Graham tried to steal his collection of dragonflies on several separate occasions! And __that__, I found out, is what had brought Mr. Reynolds to our library yesterday morning. _

_In the past week he had – quite reasonably in my opinion – started to suspect that one of our stable boys was up to Mr. Graham's old tricks. To prevent any attempts at thievery, Mr. Reynolds had first hidden his box of dragonflies in the larder, but the cook had found it there and, as you might guess, had not been pleased at all. Next, he had decided on the orangery; but after a long, sleepless night spent worrying that the suspect stable boy might follow his tracks in the snow, he had finally decided that the best place to hide his treasure would be the piano nobile – after all, if __he__ had been Very Strictly told not to enter there, then surely the same rules would apply to the stable boy._

_I must say, I am really quite impressed at his thorough nature. Apparently, he has been in almost every room of the first floor in the past few weeks! I am glad it was I that finally found him out, instead of my husband. I have a suspicion that he would not be too pleased to discover that we have a little spy in the house. _

_As you might have guessed from his last name, little Mr. Reynolds is the grandson of our housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds. From what I understand, he had been living in Bath with his mother and father until recently, but then his father had unexpectedly disappeared some months ago, leaving behind him what Mr. Reynolds says his mother calls A Great Deal of Debt & Trouble. I feel utterly ashamed of myself for ever thinking that life has treated me unfairly._

_After our most insightful little chat, I delivered the wayward little lad back to the care of his grandmother. The poor woman went quite pale when she saw us and gave little Samuel a glare so stern that he started sobbing again. After sending the boy on his way, Mrs. Reynolds apologised to me profusely, but I told her there was absolutely no reason to – her grandson is nothing short of delightful, and while it is probably true that he should not be lurking about the first floor, I confess that I am glad that he was and find myself hoping that I will meet him again soon. _

_Miss Darcy and the colonel have entered the room and seem determined to lure me into joining them in a game of charades. Miss Darcy is quite convinced that I and I alone can come up with the answer to the supposedly clever riddle her cousin has concocted. By the smug look on his face, I can tell that __he__ does not share her conviction._

_I will close now and report to you of my success later. Please write to me soon & tell me all the news from London._

_Affectionately yours,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, January 19th 1813  
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_My dearest Jane,_

_I am an utter fool. If you ever repeat to anyone what I am about to write, I swear I will deny ever writing such a thing & declare you a liar of a most scandalous nature. But of course, I trust your discretion above that of anyone else, so here it is, my terrible confession, trusted to your care for you to laugh at and for no one else to ever hear of: __If only I had listened to my mother__._

_Ever since I learned to walk, she has told me time and time again that traipsing about the countryside is not a suitable form of exercise for a genteel lady. Every time I have come home with a tear in my frock or my petticoats six inches in mud, she has faithfully remembered to admonish me for my unseemly habits. But did I ever listen to her? Did I ever heed to her advice? I most certainly did not. And now, I must face the consequences._

_One might think I would have learned my lesson that day at Mr. Thompson's pond; certainly that was a fair example of the kind of trouble a girl can get into whilst walking in the woods unaccompanied. But it seems I have learned absolutely nothing. And thus, I am doomed to be confined to my bedchamber for at least a fortnight – nursing a sprained ankle and a severely bruised amour-propre._

_The day before yesterday was another one of those charming, crisp winter days, and I could not resist going out for a walk, even if it was a bit windy and more than a little chilly. I was ambling by a little pond amidst the trees (Do not tell Papa, or I might never hear the end of his witty remarks!) when suddenly a furious gust of wind caught onto my bonnet and hurled it onto the ice. I stepped Most Carefully on the edge of the icy surface – and, as I have already told you of the state of my ankle, I am sure you can guess what happened next!_

_After a good quarter of an hour of crawling towards the house in the snow – I tried to stand up, but it soon became obvious that it was a useless effort – I determined to never, ever go walking alone again and resorted to crying for help. And of course, it was none other than my husband who heard my cries. I do not know what he was doing, walking in the woods, but I can tell you that my embarrassment was acute. A lesser man – or a man with a healthier sense of irony – might have laughed when I mentioned the words 'slip' and 'pond' but the stoic creature that he is, my husband merely raised his brow. While I looked elsewhere, thoroughly mortified, he undid the laces of my boot and examined my ankle. And then, without another word, he took off his greatcoat, settled it on my shoulders and lifted me off the ground._

_It took us quite a while to reach the house, and try as I might, I could not think of a single word to say. The feel of the coat wrapped around me, the dark look on his face and the steady, stubborn rhythm of his steps – every single thing reminded me of the unfortunate events at Mr. Thompson's pond. And I am quite sure that he was thinking of the exact same thing. From now on, I plan to keep at least a mile between myself and any nearby ponds, lest he start to suspect that there is some truth to the malice Lettice Thompson has been spreading._

_I have to admit that there is something to admire in the cool, calm way he faces adversities (And in his mind, I am sure that a penniless country-savage of a wife with a tendency to slip into ponds is most certainly an adversity!) He did not fuss when he found me by Mr. Thompson's pond. He did not fuss when my father asked him to marry me. He did not fuss today when he found me, sitting in the snow, squealing like a little piglet. Instead, like I have seen him do before, he simply assessed the situation and did what he thought needed to be done. After almost one and twenty years of Mama fussing over every little thing, I confess that I find the change oddly refreshing._

_We quarrel more often than not, but he rarely raises his voice. The only time I have seen him truly lose his temper was on the night of our wedding. On nine days out of ten, his somber mien serves only to make me irritable. But on the tenth day, on the day I find myself in some grave trouble or another, he has a rather admirable tendency to come to my rescue. (Do tell Aunt M that I said so – she will be exceedingly pleased to hear that I have taken heed of her recent advice and am not looking at my husband only to find fault in everything that he does. I do so like to make her proud of me!)_

_I have spent the last two days confined in my bed, and my only small comforts have been Miss Darcy's constant company, a few well-chosen books some kind soul had deposited on my bedside table while I slept – and your delightful letter. Whenever I find myself feeling gloomy, I re-read the passage describing Miss Bingley's miraculous recovery. How peculiar that she could have been so very ill one day as to not be able to receive visitors, only to be revived enough to be touring the shops on Bond Street on the next!_

_Oh, Jane. Truly, I am sorry that she has treated you so abominably. But I am glad that her brother was there to witness her deceit. I would not be surprised if she had planned to never tell him that you were in Town. Perhaps now he will make his way to Gracechurch Street to explain his lengthened absence from Hertfordshire?_

_Please give my love etc. to Aunt, Uncle and the children – and a big, wet kiss to little Thomas, if you can. I hope that between playing endless rounds of spillikins with our cousins and receiving calls from a certain gentleman, you will find time to write long letters to your poor, injured sister._

_Yours ever,_

_E.D._

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_* Piano nobile: "noble floor," from Italian, meaning the principal floor of a house._

_* Amour-propre: pride, self-love that depends on the opinions of other people, a central term in the philosophy of Rousseau, introduced in the 1700's._

_* Spillikins: a children's game, also known as pick-a-stick._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi! I forgot to mention this in the previous post, so I'll say it now: As you might have already guessed, the story is going to be slightly longer than the 10-12 letters originally planned. As always, thanks to Gayle for combing through my chapters, and to everyone who had taken the time to comment on the previous installment - I've been useless at answering comments these past two weeks, but I want you know that each one is very much appreciated!_

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_Pemberley House, January 25__th__ 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Thank you for your letter, both prompt in arrival & delightful in content. Nothing short of a letter from __you__ could have lifted my spirits today, the sixth day of my self-inflicted bed rest. Do be so kind as to remember me to everyone on Gracechurch Street – as well as to any I__ndifferent Acquaintances__ who happen to stop by for dinner. _

_Oh, Jane, do take care! You say you are not so weak as to be in any danger now, but I dare say you are in Very Great Danger of making a certain Acquaintance as much in love with you as ever! He might not have seen your dear face for over a month, but I am sure that not a day has gone by that he has not thought of it. I would even be so bold as to guess that by the time you read these words of mine, he has already told you as much himself._

_I am sitting on my bed, buried in a mountain of pillows, a bed tray on my lap so wobbly that it well deserved the alarmed look of the maid who came in to see if I needed anything and took note of the ink bottle balancing precariously close to the pristine white sheets. If the maid is prone to gossiping, I am sure the laundress is plotting on ways to take my life even as I write. But I am determined to receive as many letters as I can to break the monotony of my days, and surely the best way to attract new missives from other people is to send as many of my own as I can – even at the cost of a few ink-stained sheets._

_My efforts are bearing fruit already, for I received a very merry letter from Mary, Kitty and Lydia yesterday. Mary, apparently, is as fond of her copy of Sermons to Young Women as she ever was – yet another thing we can blame upon our dear, pious cousin – and after hearing of my latest misfortunes, had immediately decided that I could benefit from a few well-chosen quotes on Modesty and Decorum. Lydia, I gather, had then found the unsent missive on the side table in the sitting room and had decided to add a few lines of her own that had, needless to say, less to do with decorum and more to do with certain members of the militia. Of course, Kitty had then demanded that she should be allowed to add a few words, too – and thus, I can now proudly declare myself an expert on not only Mr. Fordyce's thoughts on feminine manners and Mr. Denny's dispute with the butcher, but also on the great variety of new ribbons available at Mr. White's._

_Mary had effectively crossed over some lines in the part Lydia had written – she had added a note in the end to explain that they were simply not fit to be seen by anyone – and now I suppose I shall never find out what exactly it was that Mr. Denny said to the butcher to upset him so, but I was much amused by the contents of the letter all the same. I fear, however, that I should have kept my amusement to myself. I read the whole epistle aloud to Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley last night, and something in it seemed to upset my new sister a great deal. As I find it unlikely that there was anything to distress her in Mary's sage advice or Kitty's rambling tale of ribbons, I can only gather that it was Lydia's mention of our friend Mr. Wickham that caused her to plead a headache and quit the room quite unexpectedly._

_I have suspected it before, but now I am convinced that there is more to Mr. W's connection to the Darcys than he has led me to believe. His account of Miss Darcy's manners I have already found quite false, but why is it that she should flinch so at the mention of his name? Is it something he has done? Or has my husband simply poisoned his sister's mind against their father's favourite out of spite and jealousy? Somehow I cannot quite see him doing that – he is a lot of things but deceitful does not seem to be one of them. To be sure, he said as much himself on one memorable occasion._

_Apropos my husband, he has been acting even more strangely lately than is his usual wont. Since the arrival of Miss Darcy and the colonel, we have been alone together only on a few, rare occasions – a good thing, I had thought, as we endured more uncomfortable silences and strained conversations in those first weeks together than I would have wished to endure in a lifetime. But now, it seems, he is determined to have more of them, and I am at a loss to understand why._

_Every day since my accident, he has appeared in my room at one time or another, always managing to choose a moment when no one else is present, always fixed on the same strange routine. He asks me a few awkward questions regarding the state of my ankle, never seeming to pay much attention to my answers. He sits down on a chair by the bed, smooths his breeches, then jumps up again. He paces back and forth in an agitated manner or stares out of a window, making it clear that he is as uncomfortable as can be. And yet he always appears, day after day, without fail. It is all very odd._

_Yesterday morning, after a considerable show of pacing and sighing, he sat back down again, and I almost thought that I was going to find out what he was about. But then, Miss Darcy entered the room and he jumped up again and left the room in great haste. Obviously, he has something on his chest, but what can it be?_

_Oh, dear, look at those blots! It seems that crossing is not the best of ideas when one is writing on a tottering bed tray. Perhaps I should add a second sheet – I am sure mother would applaud me for the excess. So many mysteries abound in this house that one sheet is simply not enough to cover them._

_However reluctant, I will close now & tell you more about the strange happenings at P in my next missive. Perhaps by then I will have found out why my husband is determined to torture himself by spending so much time in my barely tolerable company, and what it is that Mr. W has neglected to tell us! Please accept my sincere wishes for many more dinners spent in quite indifferent company & give my love etc. to Aunt, Uncle and the children. What I would not give to be there with you._

_Yours in affection,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, January 27__th__1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_I hope you do not think it very bad form of me to start a new letter before I have received a reply to my last – I am quite simply too impatient to wait. I solemnly promise to wait for your next before I post this one. As I write, I am sitting by the bow window in the music room, looking out into the darkening night, listening to Miss Darcy play the piano forte. (She plays uncommonly well, I think. Particularly so, if one manages to catch her when she thinks no one is listening.) Even though a fire is blazing not too far from me, I can feel the cold settling in, seeping in through the windows. The sun has been mocking me these past many days, sending tempting rays through my window to remind me of all that I am missing because of my foolish accident. But somehow, I feel sure that it will snow again tonight._

_The reason I am so eager to write to you again is three-fold – and as I am sure that Aunt M is peeking over your shoulder while you read, demanding to know how I have reached the music room with my hopelessly invalid ankle still very much in pain, I will do you both a kindness and save that part for the last! As Mr. Fordyce reminds us, it is by patience that a lady must triumph, and what better way is there to learn patience than to try it a little every now and then?_

_My first and foremost reason for taking up my pen is to offer you an apology – one that is as belated as it is heartfelt. It seems that married life has made me in equal measures blind and selfish, for up until this morning I had not realised the full enormity of the trouble I have put you through with my correspondence. I had expected that Mama would express some disdain over not being allowed to read my letters to you, but as you have not so much as hinted at any trouble, I had not spared it much thought. I should have guessed that it was __not__ because she was __not __giving__you any trouble that I was __not __hearing__ of it._

_I received a letter from Mama this morning and judging from its contents, she has been truly merciless in her attempts to pester you to give her my missives. Oh, dear sister, I am so very sorry! You truly are the kindest, most unselfish person I know. And the most steadfast! I am sure that even the Spanish Armada would not get past you if you set your mind to it – but all the same I am glad that you are in London now, far away from the prying eyes at L._

_To console Mama over having such secretive, ungrateful daughters, I have written her a long letter this morning, describing every little detail of the house I could think might interest her, sealing it carefully after I was finished & marking it __Private__ to complete the effect__. I expressly told her not to tell __anyone__ how incandescently happy I am, living in a great big house with a wealthy husband and an army of servants to take care of my every need – I am sure that nothing will please her better than to be able to share these confidences with the neighbourhood in general, and that Vile Thompson Girl (her words, but I find myself agreeing with her for once) in particular. It is my hope that regular letters addressed directly to her will dissuade her from her desire to read those addressed to you._

_In addition to Mama's sulky epistle, I also had the honour of receiving a remarkably short and mysterious missive this morning, hid in a letter addressed to Miss Darcy. _

_Dear Mrs. Darcy, it said. Do allow me to express my most sincere congratulations on Your recent nuptials. Most sincerely, Miss de Bourgh. _

_And that was all! What is one to think of such a letter? I would like to think that she is genuinely pleased – perhaps she had no more desire to marry my husband than I did, and is now glad to be spared of the obligation? – but I am suspicious of her assertions of sincerity. In my experience, people who declare themselves to be Most Sincere are rarely very sincere at all, and Miss de Bourgh has done so twice! Do tell me what you think and please ask that Aunt do so as well. Should I send her a reply? And if so, should I write sincerely or Most Sincerely? I would ask Miss Darcy, but I do not wish to chance offending her twice in the space of a single week._

_Lastly, I wish to tell you something that I hope will please you, for I know how you have worried for my sake these past months. Colonel F is to leave P on the morrow and while his last day here has been tinged with a measure of wistfulness, it has also been the happiest I have spent since my arrival. Yesterday, as my husband arrived to do his self-imposed daily duty of gloomily stomping around my chamber for a quarter of an hour, I asked him if we might not do something special today to give the colonel a proper farewell. _

_He seemed reluctant to say the least, and I was quite offended when he told me that I would do best to put such nonsense out of my head and stay in bed until my ankle was fully healed – but then, this morning, he showed up again quite unexpectedly and offered an apology. I much suspect that his sister put him up to it, but frankly, I do not care what brought on his sudden change of mind. He has been on his best behaviour the whole day; I imagine that this is what Mr. W meant when he said that my husband has the ability to please when he so chooses._

_We spent the afternoon in the library, where the colonel entertained us with stories of his life in the army (though I do suspect he left out some of the more unpleasant details for the benefit of myself and Miss Darcy) and my husband read aloud to us at his sister's behest. After dinner (boiled fowl, the colonel's favourite), we moved to the music room where, to Miss Darcy's horror, the colonel had a footman bring in a bowl of brandy & raisins for a game of snap-dragon. My husband looked exceedingly uncomfortable but, after some cajoling from his cousin, deigned to pluck a raisin from the bowl._

_And right then, sitting in the darkened room, looking at that austere man bent over the bowl in an awkward angle, trying to look dignified while snatching a raisin from amidst the flaming liquid, his cousin and his sister laughing at him freely, I felt it. It was only a fleeting moment, gone as soon as it had appeared, but for a moment, I felt like – home._

_I do not expect to befriend my husband; we see the world too differently for that. But if we could learn to put our differences aside when we are together, like we have today, then perhaps... I am very fond of Miss Darcy, and I grow more fond of her each day I spend with her. The house is charming, the servants kind and efficient. Meeting the colonel has taught me to hope that not everyone connected to my husband will shun me. Now if only I could learn to tolerate my husband and he myself, then perhaps there would be some hope of a happier future yet._

_I have changed my mind – I truly am too impatient to wait. I plan to seal the letter now & make sure it will leave in the morning post. I will write to you again when I receive a reply to my last. Kiss the children for me and give my love &c. to Aunt and Uncle._

_Affectionately yours,_

_E.D._

_P.S. If you are still wondering how I got into the music room – and into the library, for that matter – I will reward your patience with my ramblings and tell you directly: My husband has once again deigned to defy propriety and carried me. I much suspect Miss Darcy might have mentioned to him my plans of procuring a walking stick and hobbling down the stairs myself._

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* _Crossing_ refers to the Regency habit of first writing a sheet full and then turning it sideways to continue writing on top of the original lines to save space. The postage depended on the size of the letter and was paid by the recipient – to keep the letters affordable, it was common to write on a single sheet that was then folded and sealed for sending.

* In sermon XIII of Sermons to Young Women_, _Fordyce recommends that_ "like the apostles and first Christians, your highest glory is to conquer with benignity, and triumph by patience". _He has plenty of other charming and not in the least chauvinistic advice for young women, too – and all conveniently available in Google Books for our reading pleasure.

* _Snap-dragon_ is a parlour game that was popular in winter-time, particularly on Christmas Eve and Twelfth Night (and on Halloween in the U.S.). It involved plucking raisins out of a bowl of flaming brandy and trying to eat them without getting burned.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for taking so long to post, it turned out that setting the tone for these next letters was the most difficult thing yet. As always, my thanks to Gayle for hunting down all my pesky grammar mistakes. Oh, and as good manners dictate, an angst warning for all those who are in the habit of hiding behind the sofa when things get tricky: Winter is coming. But it will be of short duration, don't worry:)_  
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_Pemberley House, January 29th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_I am sitting in my private sitting room (For what else is one to do in a sitting room? Standing, I am sure, would be an offense to the sensibilities of such a refined space – how fortunate that I am as of yet unable to do so for any great length of time), warmly dressed and my feet firmly tucked under a blanket – and yet I feel chilled to the bone. Outside the winds are blowing again, tempestuous & wild and so heavy with snow that when I looked outside, I could barely see the bridge that crosses the stream in front of the house, even though the room is almost directly above that spot. I received your letter earlier this morning and, while I was delighted to have it, I could not help but feel sorry for the poor man that had carried it here through the storm raging outside. To console my conscience, I have decided in my head that he was not sent back outside after he had delivered the post, but sits by a roaring fire in the kitchens even now, a cup of hot soup in his hands, chatting merrily with one of the footmen. I dearly hope that I am right._

_I am afraid that I must start my missive by disabusing both you and Aunt of your fanciful notions of my husband having a tendre for me and ask you to prepare yourself for something dreadful instead. He is not in love with me. With utmost certainty – not. To him, I am not merely the country savage of a wife with questionable relations and a propensity to end up in perilous situations. Indeed not. To these already established faults I must now also add something more substantial – that is, my being an unforgivable flirt & a fool of the first order._

_After reading these bitter words, would you be very surprised if I told you that my husband and I have engaged in yet another quarrel? Although I do think that to call it A Quarrel does not quite do justice to the livid nature of the dispute – I believe we might have even overdone the infamy that was our wedding night. I am vexed; I am grieved. I am Every Possible Kind Of Upset. My astonishment at what has passed increases with every review of it. How foolish I now feel to think that but two days ago, I thought there might be some hope for the future still._

_The colonel left us early in the morning yesterday and, having said my goodbyes to him before I retired the night before, I did not wish to bother my husband by having him assist me down the stairs to see his cousin off. I did not wish to bother him later in the day, either – very well, I admit, I did not wish to bother myself. Having him carry me has always been an awkward experience, to say the least, and the night before had been the most awkward of all these occasions. And so I thought it was perhaps best that I stay in my rooms until I am able to walk unassisted and thus asked to have dinner brought up to my room instead of going down to the dining room. A few hours later I learned that I had made a grievous mistake._

_I was getting ready to retire when my husband showed up in my room, unannounced, ordering the maid to leave us with a rudeness I had never before seen him display to the servants. He poked the fire, drew the curtains, all with such force that I knew not what to think of it. Then he sat down on the chair that he has often occupied before, looked straight at me – and I realised that he was slightly in his cups. Without preamble, he asked me if I was very disappointed to see his cousin go. Foolishly, I mistook the reason for his harsh manner, imagining that he thought me rude for not having gone to see the colonel off in the morning. I told him that I was indeed very sorry to lose the colonel's company, and that I hoped that he might be able to visit us again soon._

_He next asked me if the colonel's departure was the sort of loss that might be diminished by inviting another house guest – he suggested that I might like to invite you to visit P. After all the things he has said about our family in the past, you can imagine my surprise at such a suggestion! But I was delighted, too, for I thought that perhaps it meant that he had started to reconsider the wisdom of his previous words. So I thanked him for his consideration, but told him that you were presently in Town and that I did not wish to interrupt your stay there – and of what happened then, the less said the better._

_Oh, Jane. I do not know how to tell you this, or even if I should, but at the same time I feel that I must. It seems that for the lengthy absence of Mr. Bingley, we have my husband to thank as much as our dear friend Miss Bingley. I do not wish to pain you, and would not tell you of this at all if I did not think that it might in some way help you find happiness. While the invention of a ridiculous illness was surely all Miss Bingley's doing, it was my husband that first advised his friend to leave Hertfordshire, based on a rather dubious account of observing your manner and seeing no symptom of peculiar regard towards his friend. It was not indifference that drove your suitor away but a misguided confidence in the counsel of an old friend. Mr. Bingley loved you, and I am sure that he does still._

_I wish I could tell you that this was the extent of the argument, and that after I had expressed my ire over my husband's officious behaviour, he would have shown some contrition over his high-handed manner in return. Sadly, it was not to be. _

_Instead, to my great surprise, I was to find out that I have been quite shamelessly flirting with Colonel Fitzwilliam these past weeks. Who would have thought! It seems that not only have I unwittingly disgraced my husband and made a fool of myself in front of the servants, I have also set an Appalling Example to poor Miss Darcy. And all this time I thought I was just showing politeness and kindness to a person who is clearly so very important to both my husband and his sister – how fortunate I am to have such a wise, perceptive husband to educate me on these matters._

_Of Mr. Wickham, I am never to speak again in this house. The reason? I was given none. On this matter as in all others, I am to trust the superior wisdom of my husband like a good wife ought. I am starting to suspect that Mary has been kind enough to send quotations from Mr. Fordyce to my husband as well as to myself._

_I do not know if I should be crying or laughing over the absurdity of it all. I am half-hoping that my ankle might never heal and that I could stay locked in my chamber for the rest of my days. Unfortunately, the uncooperative thing is already showing significant signs of improvement. But how am I ever to face my husband again after all that has been said and done? How can I spend the rest of my life tied to a man who thinks so poorly of me as to accuse me of flirting with a man who might as well be his brother? It is in every way insufferable!_

_Oh, Jane, my dear, dear sister. Pray forgive me for once again laying my troubles at your door, or at least do not punish me so far as to exclude me from N – in regards to inviting my husband, you may do as you please._

_Affectionately yours &c,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, January 31st 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Where should I begin? I believe I owe an apology – but to whom, I cannot decide. To yourself, certainly, for the bitter and hasty words of my last letter. I have come to learn that I would be wise to think first and write later. To Charlotte Lucas, quite likely, for not listening with more attention to her wise words of showing affection and encouraging love. To Miss Darcy, unequivocally, for distressing her with mentions of a man who has done her a grievous wrong. To my husband? I hardly know._

_Yesterday morning I woke up facing a conundrum. I had already hidden one day in my chambers, and I would dearly have loved to bury further under the blankets, stay in bed all day and pretend that the world outside my door did not exist. The more I thought of what had happened, the more furious I felt – angry at what my husband had done to you, angry at what he had accused me of. Angry because the hesitant truce I had thought we were heading towards had been so abruptly interrupted. I wished to avoid him at all cost, but at the same time, I felt that it was imperative that I did not. _

_Of course, I could not very well call for him to assist me, and I felt fairly confident that even if I might somehow be able to hobble down the stairs myself, my physician would disapprove of such attempts most heartily – the stairs, I have been told, are absolutely out of the question until my foot has healed fully. In a fit of pique, I decided that my best option was to have two footmen carry me down on a chair. Oh, Jane, I have never felt so ridiculous in my life! By the time that my questionable convoy reached the door of the family dining room, I was quite prepared to ask the footmen to turn around from sheer embarrassment at arriving in such a manner. And in the end it turned out that I might as well have done that – for when I made my grand entrance to the dining room, attempting to look as icy and regal as one can manage in a wobbling chair, it turned out that my husband was not there at all!_

_Instead, I broke my fast with Mrs. Annesley and Miss Darcy, who was equal parts distress and misery. Misery, because she had chanced to hear parts of the infamous argument; distress, though I did not know it then, because of something her brother had asked her to share with me. Seeing Miss Darcy was the first thing that started to abate my anger. The poor girl was so upset over the discord between her brother and myself that I could not help but feel more sorry for her than for myself. No matter what I think of my husband, in the eyes of Miss Darcy he is the finest man that ever lived. I much suspect that she has never raised her voice in his company – and I find it rather likely that he has never done so either. To hear the bitter words exchanged in the midst of our argument must have felt to her like the worst sort of abomination._

_The second thing that served to cool my temper – a letter. From my husband, entrusted in the care of Miss Darcy to give to me at the first opportunity in the course of the morning. Oh, Jane, I do not know what to think of it all! When I first read the letter, I was so prepared to think ill of him, so persuaded that he could have no explanation to give that I scarcely allowed for the possibility that there might be some justice to what he wrote. But now I have read the missive many times over, and I find that I am no longer so sure of myself. _

_In the way he has acted towards you and his friend, I still find injustice. He might not have been able to ascertain your true feelings towards his friend, but I still cannot see that he had the right to so presumptuously decide on the lives of others. But then, when one remembers the lack of propriety shown by the members of our own family on so many occasions – most memorably at the dinner party before the wedding – one cannot deny the credit to some of his assertions. The mere thought depresses me beyond anything I have ever known before – but perhaps it is not my husband, after all, that we have to thank for driving away Mr. Bingley, but our own family?_

_Of Mr. Wickham's dealings with the Darcys I now know more than I ever bargained for. At the behest of her brother, Miss Darcy came to see me yesterday afternoon and gave me a detailed account of Mr. Wickham's actions, though I could see how it pained her to speak of the matter. I do not wish to write the particulars in a letter; suffice it to say that my husband and his sister have been used extremely ill by said gentleman. I am wretched to think of how blindly I accepted all his falsehoods as the truth after so short an acquaintance. I have written to Papa this morning, in the hope that he would be more prudent in the future in regards to our family's dealings with the officers of the militia._

_Of my supposedly infamous flirtation with the colonel, the letter said nothing. After addressing the offenses I had laid to his charge (this took him two whole sheets written in a very close hand!), my husband merely ended curtly with an apology for his brutish behaviour and a promise that I should not fear for such an occurrence taking place again._

_To say that I am vexed does not quite seem to cover the multitude of thoughts that occupy my mind. On the subject of Mr. Wickham, there can be no two opinions. Of neither him nor my husband and my new sister can I think without feeling that I have been blind, partial, prejudiced and absurd. But of the rest of what has happened, I cannot fix my opinion. I can feel quite reasonable and forgiving one minute, only to feel perfectly irate in the next. The worst of it – I cannot demand to discuss the matter through with my husband, as he has gone to Chesterfield and is not to return for several days. On business, says the letter, but I am inclined to think that business has nothing to do with it._

_Oh, dear. It seems that my letters grow more rambling and disconcerting by the day. I started this missive to apologise for the previous one, and now I find that this one has turned out just as depressing as the last. Perhaps I should refrain from writing until I have happier news to share again? _

_The next time I shall write to you, I promise it will be only to tell you of the oddly flavoured draught the cook concocted for Mrs. Reynolds, who has been coughing quite badly for a week at least; or of the spectacularly boring book on horticulture I am trying to read at the recommendation of Mrs. Annesley._

_Until then, I am very affectionately yours etc,_

_E.D._

_P.S. I almost forgot. A most peculiar thing happened this morning. I found a small parcel on my dressing table with a neatly folded note placed on top of it. I have taken the liberty to deliver You a gift from an admirer, the note said, to prove that I am not always a jealous brute. Inside the parcel – a dead dragonfly!_

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	6. Chapter 6

Over three weeks again. Ooops. I'm turning procrastination into an art form. Thank you to everyone who had taken the time to comment on the previous chapter, I really appreciate it! Thank you AmyW for alerting me to a small but significant mistake I had made regarding Sam Reynolds and to marliz and JulietR for offering suggestions to fix it. And of course, thank you to Gayle, my beta, you rock! :)_  
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_Pemberley House, February 4th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Where would I be without you? I have sent you one miserable missive after another, and yet you always reply with such cheer and warmth. Whether it was your description of little Danny challenging Mr. Bingley to a snowball fight, or the fact that he actually accepted the challenge, I cannot tell – but your letter has made me laugh out loud for the first time in days, and for that, I thank you heartily. In the midst of all the confusion of late, it feels good to know that there is at least one place in the world where happiness always abounds._

_I can hardly imagine Gracechurch Street with enough snow to allow for snowball fights and snowmen at this time of year, but I suppose I must believe it. Both Mary and Charlotte tell me that Meryton, too, has been snowed in more than once this past month – a circumstance that seems to have been of little concern to either of them, but I am to understand that Lydia, Kitty & Maria Lucas have been quite inconsolable over the matter._

_Here at P, the winds have abated and a heavy layer of snow has covered everything and rendered the house and its surroundings eerily quiet. My elusive husband remains in Chesterfield, and Miss Darcy, Mrs. Annesley & myself have got into a habit of spending our evenings huddled in the large armchairs by the fireplace in my sitting room, reading and embroidering. The state of my troublesome ankle is considerably improved and I can now move around without any great inconvenience, but as the sitting room is small and cozy, we have seen no need to move to the larger rooms down the stairs._

_Poor Mrs. Reynolds's cough has taken a turn for the worse (I much suspect that the dubious draught the cook gave her had something to do with it – the apothecary has given Mrs. Reynolds strict orders not to touch it again) and she has been bedridden these past few days. Ensuring that she stays in bed has proved almost as arduous a task as trying to run the household in her absence. Up until now, I confess I have not taken enough time to familiarise myself with the daily affairs of the house – although I know that it is my home now, I have felt more like a guest than a mistress here. But now, elbow deep in solving quarrels between chamber maids and parlour maids, and trying to assure the cook that there is no need to set up elaborate meals when it is only us three ladies occupying the house, I have come to realise how deeply indebted I am to Mrs. Reynolds. Until now, the most I have done is to answer questions regarding my preferences on this matter and that, never understanding the amount of work that goes into running a household of such magnitude._

_This morning, the second time Parker informed me that he had caught Mrs. Reynolds up and about despite the apothecary's orders (Parker has such a remarkable skill of looking utterly discreet while delivering every sort of gossip that his prowess in such matters would make half the ladies in Meryton green with envy), I made my first unassisted trip down the stairs since my accident & went to see her myself. But I never got to give the stern sermon I had planned upon, for I was distracted by not one but two remarkable stories involving my husband. The first was told to me by little Samuel Reynolds, who I found loitering outside his grandmother's door, looking as grave as a boy of six and a half possibly can. I sat down to chat with him a little, and in as good an imitation of Mother as I could manage, told him that people do not die of trifling colds. He was considerably cheered by the thought, and in return told me a most interesting tale regarding the gift of a dragonfly I recently had the honour to receive._

_He explained to me that my husband had come to his rescue in the stables one day, and just in the nick of time, too, for the same cunning stable boy that Mr. Reynolds had previously suspected of plans of thievery had been trying to dare him into entering the stall of one particularly ill-tempered mare. He tells me that not only had my husband scolded the stable boy quite thoroughly – which I can well imagine – but had also let little Mr. Reynolds sit atop his mount for a while in the very noble purpose of making said stable boy envious. In return for this great kindness, little Mr. Reynolds had offered to give him one of his dragonflies – an offer he had, apparently, quite solemnly accepted._

_The second tale I learned was delivered by Mrs. Reynolds quite by accident when I entered her room and told her of my amusing encounter with her grandson. Oh, that dear boy, she sighed, and while I assumed that she was talking about little Mr. Reynolds, I soon discovered that I was much mistaken. Shaking her head she continued that if that dear boy had not offered to take little Samuel and his mother in when her scoundrel of a son ran away from them, she did not know what would have become of them. Oh, Jane! You can imagine my surprise when I realised that That Dear Boy was none other than my husband!_

_It seems that every day he stays away, I hear some new account of him to puzzle me further. Miss Darcy, who seems to have gained some new confidence from the repeated assurances from both myself and Mrs. Annesley that she is not to blame for what happened with Mr. W, has started a charmingly transparent campaign of praising her brother to me at every turn. I must admit that I am amused by her efforts, but at the same time I worry that she will be gravely disappointed when she realises that her brother and I shall never become the happy couple she would wish for us to be. _

_Yesterday evening, I managed to befuddle her by calling her a bluestocking when I noticed that she was perusing the letters of Mrs. Chapone, her brow knitted in great concentration. I maintained that it was a compliment to her intellect, but she seemed quite shocked by the idea. However, she soon gathered her wits and retaliated by asking if the volume in my hands was one of the books her brother had selected to have delivered to my room after my accident by the pond. I confess that my blush was much deeper than hers, and that I could think of nothing very clever to reply._

_I am quickly running out of space & must close now. Please remember me to everyone, and write to me again as soon as you can manage._

_Yours in sincere confusion,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, February 6th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_My husband has returned. I am sitting in my room, unable to sleep despite the lateness of the hour. I can hear movement behind the door that adjoins my chamber to his – I wonder if it is very selfish of me to draw some strange form of comfort from the fact that it appears that he, too, feels too unsettled to rest?_

_He had sent a note ahead, telling us to expect him early on the morrow but then, shortly after dinner, he appeared unexpectedly, quite disheveled and in a most peculiar mood. Such was my surprise at his sudden appearance in my sitting room that I pricked my finger with my embroidery needle and let out a decidedly unladylike yelp – how embarrassing._

_Miss Darcy was all excitement to see him again, pummeling him with questions regarding his stay in Chesterfield. He answered her queries with all of his usual grave, short-worded eloquence and seemed distracted to the point of giving offense. Miss Darcy did not seem to mind, however, looking as pleased as Punch every time he offered another monosyllabic grunt by way of an answer. I suppose I should have guessed that she, too, was distracted with other plans, for he had not been five minutes in the room when she suddenly started to complain about a headache so grueling that not only did she have to excuse herself but also to take Mrs. Annesley with her to offer her some comfort. I assure you that I have never seen a person suffering from the effects of an aching head smile so much. For all her vaunted shyness, my new sister is turning out to be quite a sly creature._

_Alone with my husband for the first time since our argument, I suddenly found it very difficult to devise anything sensible to say at all. To fill in the uncomfortable silence that had settled in the room after Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley had gone, I asked him if he had had a pleasant trip – not at all – and if the roads had been snowy – yes, very. He moved to sit in the armchair closest to mine and while I cannot say quite what it was, or if it was just my nerves playing tricks on me, but something in his tense, awkward manner suddenly reminded me of the way he looked on the night of our wedding, just before he tried to bestow that unfortunate kiss on me. I suppose I should be glad that Parker chose that particular moment to step into the room to see if my husband required supper after his long journey._

_Oh, Jane! I never knew I was such a cowardly thing, but as soon as Parker appeared, I jumped up from my chair and bid my husband a good night, rushing out of the room as if my life depended on it. While he has been gone, I have imagined the conversation we would have on his return a thousand times over. At times I have thought that it would be a sensible, rational discussion on our situation; at others, I have let my ire take over my reason. But never once did I imagine myself like I was this night, tongue-tied and confused, unable to put two words of sense together._

_I have always prided myself on my quick wit & easy conversation, but it seems now that I have lost a good deal of it somewhere on the way from Longbourn to Derbyshire. Conversing with my husband has always been a strenuous task, but now the mere thought of it seems next to impossible. I wish to reprimand him for the unfeeling things he has said about my family and friends, but then I remember his kindness to little Samuel and his mother. I wish to thank him for the thoughtful gift of books when I was ill, but then I remember his hurtful words regarding my behaviour towards the colonel. I do not know what to say to him. Are we to talk of the weather and the condition of the roads for the rest of our lives?_

_It is close to midnight and the noises behind the adjoining door have quieted down. I suppose I should try to sleep – perhaps the morning will find me my rational, cheerful self again. To think that less than three months ago I was walking down the path towards Mr. Thompson's pond, blissfully unaware that my blithe, careless step that morning would lead me to this moment. How long ago that day now seems._

_Give my love etc. to everyone on Gracechurch Street,_

_Yours in affection,_

_E.D._

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_* Hester Chapone was a self-educated writer of conduct books for women, associated with the Blue Stocking Society founded in the early 1750's by Elizabeth Montagu. Her Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, addressed to a young lady was singled out by Mary Wollstonecraft as one of the few self-improvement books deserving of praise._

_* A few words on the weather: The weather of this story is mostly a creation of my imagination – I do not know whether there was enough snow in London in February 1813 to build snowmen, nor do I know how cold it really was in Derbyshire. I have based my weather on the assumption that winters in the early 1800's were often slightly colder than they are now – for instance, I know that in 1814, it was cold enough for the Thames to freeze over, and that until the 5th of February the ice was thick enough to hold a winter fair on it; and that on that same winter, there were reports of roads being closed due to heavy snowfall even as south as Kent. Whether the same is true for the winter of 1813, I don't know – but for selfish purposes of my own, I have decided that it was so. :)  
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	7. Chapter 7

Thought I had dropped of the edge of the Earth, did you? No such luck. Here comes the next bit of Thaw; my thanks to everyone for your patience and, as always, to Gayle, my wonderful beta. :)

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_Pemberley House, February 11th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Et tu, Brute? I am sure you can guess how remarkable I found it that you had managed to dedicate an entire half of a sheet to describe the particular words my husband had chosen to use in his letter to Mr. B! I dare say that he would be quite shocked to learn that the gentleman in question has chosen to show it to you – and thoroughly displeased to discover that you have then shared its content with me! But, as I have little doubt that this clever little plot to make me think better of my husband has been heavily influenced by our dear aunt, I shall not blame you overmuch._

_I hope that you will be quite proud of me when I tell you that you and Aunt can give up your newly found scheming ways, for my husband and I have made great progress in these past few days. After two uncomfortable dinners spent discussing in exhausting detail the differences between the murals in the gallery and the murals in the family dining room, I decided that to spend many more evenings that way would simply be insupportable (and unhealthy, I might add, for Mrs. Annesley was already complaining of the strain the endless inspection of the ceilings was causing on her neck). Thus, on the second evening after my husband's return, I followed him when he made an attempt to flee to his study after dinner and asked to speak with him._

_To save you and Aunt M the trouble of guesses and speculation, I will tell you directly that I have since spent my days meditating on the very great pleasure a simple, honest conversation can bestow to two people as set on misunderstanding each other as my husband and I have previously been. I knew I had married a virtual stranger, but it had never occurred to me how much I had allowed my unfavourable first impression of him to affect my later attempts at understanding him. And he has certainly not fared much better, with his preconceived notions of the importance of rank & circumstance._

_I will spare you the details of our tête-à-tête, suffice it to say that we have decided not to quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to our current circumstance. I am convinced that the conduct of neither, if strictly examined, would be irreproachable. And, more importantly, we would do well to remember that it is not so much our own conduct but the conduct of others that has lead us to this situation. We will harm none more than ourselves if we do not attempt to make the best of an unfortunate happenstance._

_There is a great deal of awkwardness to overcome, to be sure, but the future seems far less desolate now than it did even a week ago. Despite his stern, short-worded manner and occasional forbidding mien, there is a kindness to the man I married that I am determined to strive to remember from now on, whenever I feel cross with him – which I expect shall be often enough! He is an exemplary brother and a generous, kind master. The very fact that he agreed to marry me when Papa asked it of him proves that he is a gentleman. A good man. _

_On Sunday, we attended the services for the first time since my accident, and while I was stared at as much as before, my discomfort was considerably lessened by my husband's remarkably attentive behaviour. Apparently convinced that I would slip and twist my ankle again as soon as I stepped out in the snow, he tucked my hand firmly in the crook of his arm as soon as we were out of the doors at P and did not release it until we reached our pew._

_After the services, instead of rushing me out of the church doors as soon as the vicar had said his last words, my husband took the time to introduce me to some of his acquaintances. I am sure I could have done without the rather detailed description of Mr. Kingston's gout (the discussion with his wife lead me to suspect that she is prone to exaggerating his symptoms in the hopes that he would decide to relocate the entire family to Bath – does this remind you of any particular person of our close acquaintance, I wonder?), but I was pleased that my husband made the effort. The vicar & his wife are to dine with us on Friday – our very first dinner guests, if one does not count the colonel. I confess that I am most curious to see how my husband acts in company!_

_Oh, Jane. I have married a stranger, but perhaps I have also married a friend? The thought feels comforting. Give my love etc. to everyone on Gracechurch Street and do not forget to tell me how Mrs. White replied to Millie's note about the lost stockings – I am quite simply dying to find out!_

_Affectionately yours,_

_E.D._

_P.S. As I know you and Aunt well enough to surmise that your minds will quickly jump from conciliation to something else entirely, I feel it my duty to disappoint you at once. Nothing of that sort has entered our Most Sensible conversations, and I would be exceedingly surprised if it did._

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_Pemberley House, February 15th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Aunt M has asked me to persuade you to stay at Gracechurch Street for another fortnight at least – she seems quite put out about your plans to return to L Thursday next. The dutiful niece that I am, I hereby plead with you to think once more of the wisdom of your decision. As I am sure you are aware, Mama, Kitty and Lydia are all in an uproar over the incident with the butcher's second eldest – as is the rest of our acquaintance, judging from Charlotte's recent letter. Do you truly want to arrive in the middle of all that commotion?_

_Charlotte tells me that the whole of Meryton is rife with gossip over what has happened. Mrs. Goulding, I am to understand, has Highly Trustworthy sources claiming that one of the officers of the militia is the culprit. Charlotte, ever practical, pointed out that this whole affair is good news for our family, for it means that the events leading to my marriage are no longer the talk of the town. And perhaps it is so; perhaps I should feel pleased to know that Lettice Thompson's flighty tales have been usurped by this new, scandalous turn of events. But I cannot. Surely the girl has acted very, very foolishly, but just to think of the scorn and gossip poor Mr. Brown and his family will have to face makes me feel ill. I am sure that I can never forgive some of our Dear Friends and Kind Neighbours for the repugnant way they turned their backs on our family at the first whiff of a scandal. I have told as much to Mama in my latest letter, in the hopes that she might curb her enthusiasm over the downfall of the Brown family, but I know already that she will think nothing of it._

_As I am sure you remember, I received a most mysterious note from Miss Anne de Bourgh some time ago. The curious being that I am, you can guess that I could not go on without finding out whether she was sincere in her congratulations to me, and therefore sent her a mysterious little note of my own some weeks ago (included in a letter from Miss Darcy, of course, for as delightful as I found Miss de Bourgh's mother's recent sojourn at P, I have no wish to repeat the experience, if at all possible). Two days ago, I finally received an answer – such a sweet one that I find it quite likely that Miss Darcy has either dictated to her cousin the exact words she should use or else penned the note herself! But to be perfectly serious, I confess that I am happy that she replied. Should we ever have to pay a visit to Kent, it is comforting to know that at least one person in that county is on my side of the battle line._

_The vicar and his wife dined with us yesterday evening. Mrs. Reynolds, who thankfully has recovered from her remarkably insistent cold (my maid let it slip that the cook thinks that it was none other than her dubious draught that cured Mrs. Reynolds, and I much suspect that we have not yet seen the last of that odious mixture!) happened to know that the vicar has a penchant for venison stew, so that is what we decided to serve. What Mrs. Reynolds did not apparently have knowledge of, however, was the vicar's wife's penchant for writing poetry. _

_Oh, Jane. By the time dear Mrs. Turner reached the thirteenth – and last – stanza of her "Ode to Hedgehogs," I did not know which way to look. Miss Darcy was suddenly drawn to inspect the contents of her teacup most thoroughly, and Mrs. Annesley seemed to have recovered her interest in murals. Only my husband sat as imperturbable as ever and, when Mrs. Turner was finished with her recital, clapped his hands politely and said: "I commend you on your excellent use of the iambic pentameter, madam." _

_Mrs. Turner looked exceedingly pleased with this praise, but my suspicions arose immediately – could it be that underneath that somber exterior, my husband is hiding a sense of humour? I am determined to investigate the matter further and will report my findings to you as soon as may be._

_Apropos my husband, I fear I must close soon, for I have promised to join Miss Darcy and him on a tour of the orangery this afternoon. The sun has been shining these past few days, forcing the snow and ice to slowly give way to spring. Miss Darcy assures me that there is nothing quite as magical as the play of light in the orangery when the sun's rays break through the countless windows. I am glad she has decided to join us to witness this little miracle, for while my husband and I have agreed to attempt to understand each other better and avoid useless arguments, I feel more confident of our ability to succeed when there is a third person present._

_Do give my love to Uncle and the children, and be sure to tell Aunt that I have done her bidding and tried to convince you to extend your stay. And do take care to consider dear Miss Bingley's feelings in the matter as well! Her health would be put to Great Peril if her brother decided to take residence at Netherfield again – something I am sure he will start considering the moment you decide to return to L._

_Yours ever and ever,_

_E.D._

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	8. Chapter 8

See? I don't always take a month to update. :D Thanks to everyone reading, and especially to all of those who have taken the time to comment. And as always, I owe my biggest thanks to Gayle, who takes such prodigious care of my grammar. Any mistakes left are the result of my fiddling.

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_Pemberley House, February 19th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_How very sly you have been! And, as always, considerably more sensible than any of your silly sisters. I hereby give you my wholehearted blessing to return to Hertfordshire; do what you can to restore the reputation of our family from the tatters in which I have left it. I jest, of course – but I dearly wish that I could be present to witness the expressions of Lettice Thompson and certain other ladies when Mr. Bingley returns to Netherfield and resumes his frequent calls to L. Mama, of course, will be delighted to parade the news around Meryton, and I am sure that Papa, too, will be pleased that at least one of his daughters will be properly courted under the watchful eye of the neighbourhood & shall only give cause to gossip of the very best kind. My dear sister, I am so very, very happy for you. My only regret is that I cannot be there to congratulate you in person._

_You have asked me to describe the orangery for you, and I shall try my best, although I much fear that my words cannot quite do it justice. My husband tells me that it was built nearly a hundred years later than the main house, but I secretly suspect that it is not the work of builders at all – it seems like such a natural addition to the scenery that I can easily imagine that it has simply grown there over the years, just like the shrubbery and trees surrounding it. Large paned windows made of Dutch glass cover the walls of the building, and even the roof is glazed – an addition commissioned by my husband only three years ago. Inside, the sun's rays play on the leaves of the dormant trees (lemon, lime, orange and even pomegranate, I am told), creating a game of light and shadow just as magical as Miss Darcy promised me. Perhaps, sometime in the near future, you might come & see it for yourself?_

_Speaking of my new sister, would you be very surprised if I told you that she never joined us on the trip to the orangery? Another headache, she said, but I am suspicious. Much like Mother's nerves, her headaches seem to have the remarkable ability to appear and disappear at her convenience – or rather, at my inconvenience! I mentioned to her that if the aches persist, we might ask the apothecary to apply leeches to her temples as instructed by Dr. Buchan. The manner in which her eyes widened at my quite innocent suggestion leads me to suspect that her head will not trouble her again in the near future._

_I confess that I enjoyed my afternoon in the orangery a great deal even in Miss Darcy's absence (out of all that is lovely in P, I believe the graceful, weather-beaten building sheltering the delicate trees from the chill of Derbyshire winter must have the place closest to my heart), but it has also left me confused. My husband told me hardly any of the things I expected him to tell me of the place – another man might have prattled on about the cost of the glazing or the size of the chimney-piece inside – and yet he showed me all the things that most endeared it to me. The repairs in one of the windowpanes, where a ball had penetrated the glass after a particularly spirited shot executed by Colonel Fitzwilliam during a game of cricket many summers ago. A large fern Miss Darcy used to hide behind as a child, whenever she was upset with her brother. The spot where my husband's father proposed marriage to his mother._

_Oh, Jane. Once again, I do not know what to make of my husband. He is not the most talkative of men, but unlike before, I do not feel so oppressed by his silence. He says the thing he means to say, and if there is nothing of substance to add to the matter, he is quiet. In the orangery, he told me his little stories with warmth but no embellishment. When he was done, he stood back quietly and let me look my fill. He seems to have returned to his old habit of looking at me a great deal, but while I have discarded the idea that he does it to find fault, the expression of his look is disputable, to say the least. It is an earnest, steadfast gaze, but I often wonder if it is anything other than absence of mind. Perhaps he is just tired of looking at the walls and pleased that he does not have to, now that we have agreed to attempt to reconcile our differences?_

_He seems to seek me out more often these days, always taking pains to open a conversation on some topic or another, instead of just stalking wordlessly, like he did during my bed rest. But I cannot tell if it is the effect of necessity rather than choice that he does these things – a sacrifice to propriety more than it is a pleasure to himself? Does he truly wish for my company, or does he seek it out of duty? If we are to be friends, I would hope the former alternative to be correct._

_As for my own feelings on the matter, I confess that I have put the past behind me far more easily than I would have thought likely. But then, you know I am not formed for misery. A month ago I did not think it possible to ever befriend my husband – but now I am determined to do just that. For my sake and his, as well as for the sake of our family, both present & future, I dearly hope I will succeed._

_I will close now; I am expecting Mrs. Kingston and her daughter to call on us this morning and must think of at least two or three good subjects for us to discuss so as to avoid any mentions of Mr. Kingston's gout. In the afternoon I am to visit a few families in Lambton with Miss Darcy – she has promised to give me a tour of the village, and I am determined to see every nook and cranny Aunt M has so fondly described to me. _

_I hope your journey to L will be safe and uneventful – but not so much as to bore you quite out of your wits! And do take care to count your stockings when you pack your trunk. Mrs. White may have declared herself the picture of innocence, but I have always suspected her of a great talent for mischief. Remember that time she caught me climbing on the fence? I could have fallen down and broken my neck for the fright she gave me, and yet she had the audacity to accuse me of trespassing!_

_Give my love etc. to everyone in Gracechurch Street before you leave & to everyone in L as soon as you arrive. And do not forget to pen me a lengthy letter with all the news from home – at present I hear of nothing but the disgrace that has befallen the poor Brown family._

_Yours ever,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, February 24th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_I have received your letter, and just in time to relieve my growing anxiety to hear that you had arrived safely. If the weather there bears any resemblance to the weather here at the moment, I expect the roads were not in the best possible condition for your trip, and I confess that I have quite worried for you, dear sister. However, having had my concerns over your well-being allayed, I have allowed myself to be excessively diverted by your descriptions of life at L for the rest of the morning. I hope you shall not be displeased with me when I tell you that I read the paragraph regarding Mary and Old Daisy aloud to Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley – I know you did not mean for me to laugh at our poor sister, but I could not help a little giggle. Is it really true that she threatened to never leave the house again unless Papa sold poor Daisy to Mr. Purvis?_

_Your inquiries about my trip to Lambton have been most conveniently timed, as I have just this morning received word that my new gown is ready for fitting. On our tour of Lambton, Miss Darcy and I visited the linen-draper, and I bought eight yards of lovely, white Indian muslin (it was but five shillings a yard – a prodigious bargain of which I am sure Mama would disapprove!) and some blue ribbon with which to trim it. When he heard of my purchases, my husband asked if I would not prefer to do my shopping at the finer warehouses when we return to London. The Elizabeth of Old might have been offended, but the Elizabeth of New simply smiled and told him that if it would ease his mind, I would not wear the gown on Sundays or when we are entertaining. I have convinced myself that I know enough of him now to understand that he was not trying to admonish me for my country manners, but could not help but tease him just a little. Who would have guessed that the grave Master of Pemberley can blush so prettily?_

_Yesterday afternoon, he found me in the library and asked me if I would like to go for a little turn in the gardens with him – a request I readily agreed to. The sun was shining and the paths were a little muddy where the snow had melted. To my delight, he directed us towards a path that meanders under the branches of the old Spanish Chestnuts. I have longed to see the dear old trees up close ever since I first laid eyes on them. Unfortunately, however, it appears that the feeling has not been at all mutual, for we had not been five minutes on the path when suddenly a large lump of heavy, wet snow fell on my head from one of the traitorous trees._

_Oh, Jane! You can guess what a charming picture I made, snow covering my bonnet and dripping down my face. As seems to be his habit at my greatest moments of mortification, my husband was quick to come to my aid, producing a handkerchief from his pocket. Unable to help myself, I started laughing as he gently dabbed my face dry, imagining the picture we must have made, the impeccably groomed gentleman and the disheveled damsel in distress. And then, quite unexpectedly, he laughed, too._

_I cannot quite put into words what I felt in that moment. Joy, to be sure, for the brief instant of shared amusement. Sadness, because in the months that I have known him, I had never before heard him laugh. A strange feeling of connection, of togetherness, that quite defies explanation. The moment was gone as soon as it came, replaced by an awkward, uneasy silence so different from the calm quiet that had prevailed when we first set on our walk. When we returned to the house, he quickly excused himself, distractedly handing me the handkerchief as if I might still have some use for it._

_At dinner, my husband spoke nothing of what had happened, instead making odd and unconnected remarks on the food that was served, on Wellington's campaigns, and even on the vicar's new chaise. To be sure, I half-expected him to mention Mr. Kingston's gouty foot at any moment._

_I cannot decide which bothers me more, my husband's strange behaviour since our walk or my inability to put the incident out of my mind. Do write to me, dear sister, as soon as you can – I am in need of your calm and sensible words. _

_Yours in affection,_

_E.D._

_P.S. Having sat here like a fool of the first order, fiddling the crumpled handkerchief as if it could provide the answers I long for, I have suddenly realized that it belongs to Miss Darcy. I made it for her when I was confined to my bed – it has her initials, and the blunders in the stitches are quite unmistakable. But what does it signify? Has Miss Darcy given it to her brother or has he taken it in secret for some sentimental reason of his own? Or has he simply felt an acute need to sneeze and been forced to borrow a handkerchief from his sister because his negligent wife has made none for him?_

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_* Of all the orangeries I came across while planning the story, the Orangery at Montacute House with its quirky glazed roof is by and far my favourite.__  
><em>_Google it and you'll see what I mean._

_* Dr. William Buchan's Domestic Medicine (1790) offers lovely tips for treating all manners of diseases._

_* In Northanger Abbey, Henry Tilney, who I love almost as well as Mr. Darcy, recounts a story of buying a gown of "a true Indian muslin" for his sister and paying only five shillings a yard for it, assuring Catherine Morland and Mrs. Allen that it was considered a prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it._

_* It has occurred to me that for all the time I've spend hanging around __Sue's Regency Encyclopedia__ (reg-ency dot com) over the years, I've never taken the time to properly praise it. It's a great place for information on all things Regency and never fails to inspire me or teach me something new._


	9. Chapter 9

Better late than never, right? As always, I owe my thanks to Gayle for her diligence, speed and encouragement. And to all of you who take the time to read & comment:)

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_Pemberley House, February 28th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_You, better than any other person of my acquaintance, know that I am a true proficient when it comes to finding trouble. When I slipped and stumbled down the steep bank of Mr. Thompson's pond straight into the freezing water, I remember thinking that it was the worst that could happen. Of course, I was soon proven wrong, for by the time my husband was carrying me home, his fine greatcoat ruined by the mud and the blood from the wound in my arm, the thought of drowning in the pond started to seem like a pleasant prospect when compared to the acute embarrassment of being rescued by none other than the proud Mr. Darcy. And then, as is well known to all and sundry, Lettice Thompson decided to teach me that I was very wrong indeed to think that I could not possibly end up in more trouble than I already had. But not even the machinations of dear Lettice could have prepared me for the Very Great Peril in which I now find myself!_

_Mama once said that my husband is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him – and I remember agreeing with her most heartily at the time. To my defense, it should not be forgotten that he had insulted me quite prettily the evening before Mama's declaration and, therefore, deserved a good share of my censure. But, to my great consternation, it seems now that my sentiments have undergone so material a change since that time that I hardly know what to think of it. I am much afraid that if I do not soon recover my senses, I will end up more silly than Lydia, Kitty and Mr. Collins put together._

_Yesterday evening after dinner, we were sitting in the music room as has often been our habit. Miss Darcy was playing the piano forte and Mrs. Annesley was sitting by the bow window, attending to her correspondence. I was seated on a small settee by the fireplace, looking through Miss Darcy's latest fashion plates, trying to determine if I look fashionable enough to survive the scrutiny of the thwarted London matrons and their daughters who, according to Miss Darcy, are sure to descend upon me as soon as we travel there in April. _

_My husband had gone to his study to settle some matter with Parker and, thus, I was quite surprised when he suddenly spoke behind me, his voice so low that I barely heard him. He said nothing out of the common way – he asked if I was planning to purchase more lovely gowns from Lambton – and yet I blushed so fiercely that there is no accounting for it. He then sat beside me with a book, and I tried very hard to think of something clever to say in reply to his little joke at my expense, but could think of nothing at all. Nothing, Jane! Can you believe it? And to think that only four short days ago I so callously mocked my husband in my letter to you because he was talking of the vicar's new chaise at dinner. Compared to this newly tongue-tied version of myself, he now seems like quite the conversationalist._

_If it were only this one occasion, I should not worry so, but there have been several others. This morning at breakfast, resolved to overcome the embarrassment of the evening before, I set myself to think of at least one thing so clever that it would amaze everyone present and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb. But then, my husband looked at me over his newspaper, smiling just so, and I forgot at once what I was going to say. Next, I decided that I should not reach for the skies and determined that instead of one thing very clever, it would be quite enough if I could come up with two things moderately clever before he finished his cup of coffee._

_But, alas, it was not to be. Just as I had finally come up with something in close resemblance to a witty remark, my husband leaned over to show me something in the paper, brushing my hand as he did so. I much fear that the nervous flutterings I experienced at that moment would have done Mama quite proud. Mortified, I then concluded that I would do well to discard all attempts at being clever and consider myself very lucky if I could think of three things very dull indeed before my husband left the room. But before I had managed to concoct a single platitude, he got up from his chair, looking pleased as Punch for some reason that quite escaped me, bade us good morning and was out of the door._

_Oh, Jane! What a wretched goose I am. After these many weeks of trying to assure you and Aunt M. that my husband does not hold a tendre for me, I confess that I now find myself very much wishing that he did. Ever since our walk under the chestnut trees, I have thought of little else. I had not expected it, but I see now that I have come to respect my husband more, much more, than any other person of my acquaintance. And it is not only respect that I feel for him, but something inexplicably more tender. When I am in the same room with him, I feel content and warm. Safe. When I am not, I often find myself occupied with wondering where he is and what he is doing. If I am not in love with him yet, I fear there is a great danger that I very soon will be. But how am I ever to tell him all this, when a simple look from him is enough to render me quite incoherent?_

_I sincerely recommend addressing your next letter to Bedlam, for that is where my husband is sure to send me if I do not soon recover my wits. Perhaps if I am very lucky, he will visit me if he ever finds himself in Moorfield on a Tuesday morn?_

_Your very foolish sister,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, March 3rd 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Thank you for your sweet letter. I am happy to report that I have not been sent to Bedlam and therefore can reply to your missive from the comfort of my own sitting room instead of a cold, damp cell. I was very pleased to hear that the weather has permitted you to spend so many mornings out in the garden – doubly so when I know that you have done so in such excellent company. I am sorry to say that the weather in Derbyshire has not been nearly as fine; we have had such a succession of hail and sleet that outings like yours have been rendered next to impossible. But I am not complaining, mind you, for I have come to learn that staying in has its advantages._

_Your Mr. Bingley (I know you might think that I should not yet call him that, but I am convinced that he would not object to my doing so in the least!) once said that he knew not a more awful object than my husband at his own house, and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do. As much as I hate to disappoint such an agreeable man as Mr. Bingley, I give you leave to tell him that he is very, very wrong. But I will say no more of that, for I am sure that you would not wish for me to bore you with a long & tedious description of a rainy day, a petty argument and a first kiss shared by a husband and his wife. _

_Instead, I would like to know what you think of this business with Mama and the harp? Papa has sent me a most amusing account of the matter, but due to his fondness for ambiguity, I find it impossible to determine whether if he is more diverted or distressed by the entire development. Should I truly worry that Mama plans to approach my husband with the subject when we next meet, or do you think it a passing fancy? While, of course, I am sure that a harp would lend a definite Air of Elegance to a party and render Mrs. Phillips quite green with envy, I cannot help but wonder if Mama has stopped to consider the fact that simply owning a harp is of very little use if there is no one present to play it._

_Very well, dear sister, I will stop teasing you now and admit to it. Even if Mama was planning on requesting my husband to provide a string quartet to entertain her at breakfast and Catalani to sing to her dinner guests every Friday, I would not much care, for these past few days have taught me that there are such extraordinary sources of happiness attached to my situation as Mrs. Darcy that even Mama's flighty plans cannot dampen my mood at present._

_On Sunday evening, my husband and I were alone in the library, as Miss Darcy was feeling indisposed and Mrs. Annesley was attending to her. My husband seemed perfectly calm, sitting in an armchair, seemingly immersed in the volume in his hands, but I could not be calm. Even the steady patter of the rain against the windows seemed to conspire against my peace of mind. I tried one book, then another, only to discard both soon after I had picked them up, feeling far too lightheaded to concentrate on either. By the time that I was browsing the shelves for a third option, I was starting to feel almost aggravated – after all, why should I feel so nervous when my husband simply sat and read, cool as a cucumber, as if nothing at all was amiss?_

_Climbing up the steps to reach for a copy of Herodotus from an upper shelf, I did not hear him get up from his chair and was nearly startled out of my wits when he suddenly spoke directly below me – judging from the smug look on his face, I suspect he was rather pleased to have once again caught me unawares. Oh, Jane. After days of dancing around him, feeling foolish and unsure of myself, I fear it was all too much for me. Unable to keep calm a moment longer, I let my ire loose on him and said quite a number of things that I might have regretted later – if not for his most unexpected reaction. _

_At first, he seemed perfectly unrepentant when I accused him of nearly causing me to fall down from my precarious position, making a light quip about catching me if there had been need of it. His calm at the face of my ire only served to irritate me more, and I then cried that I was tired of feeling so very jittery and unsettled around him when it was so perfectly obvious that my presence did not disconcert him in the least. And then – oh, dear sister – something happened that I am sure I shall never forget, even if I live a hundred years. He clambered up the steps, a look in his eyes unlike any I have seen before. Without ceremony, he took my head between his hands, his thumbs caressing my cheeks in a most distracting manner, a single, muttered word escaping his mouth – 'enough.' By the time his lips touched mine, I confess that I had quite forgotten how to breathe._

_Dear, dear Jane. You will not think me very foolish and improper for the words I have just written? I cannot help it – I feel as if I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. Where others only smile, I laugh. It is as if a great burden has been lifted from my shoulders and I feel lighter than the finest down feather. For the first time since that fateful day in November, I feel utterly at ease. Happiness is within my reach and I am quite determined to grasp it._

_I will close now & spare the rest of my effusions for later. Do give my love etc. to everyone at L & write to me as soon as you can – even if it is only to tell me that you think that I have gone quite mad._

_Your very affectionate sister,_

_E.D._

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_* The business with one clever thing, two moderately clever things and three things very dull indeed is, of course, pilfered from Emma._

_* Visiting Bedlam (Bethlem Royal Hospital) to ogle at the lunatics was a popular pastime in the 18__th__ and early 19__th__ century. According to Wikipedia, there were 96,000 such visits made in 1814 alone. Entry cost a penny, apart from Tuesdays when one could peer into the cells for free. Bedlam has moved several times since it was opened, but from 1675 to 1815, it was situated in Moorfields, just outside London city limits._

_* (Angelica) Catalani was a famed (for her flighty temper and high fees as well as her voice) Italian opera singer performing at the King's Theatre in London from 1806 onwards._

_* If you wish to see an example of the kind of library steps I had in mind, enter the following words in to Google image search: library steps Stourhead House. The third picture should feature the library steps (dating from the early 1800's) in the library of Stourhead House, Wiltshire UK - these are what I had in mind when writing the scene._

_And should anyone be wondering: No, the story is not over yet :)  
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	10. Chapter 10

Once upon a time there was a story called 'Thaw'. And now there is again, so I hope you haven't forgotten all about it. I'm sorry for being away so long - as anyone who reads my stories knows, I'm a lax updater at the best of times, and these past couple of months have definitely not been the best of times for me.

Gayle, as always, has had a hand in improving my grammar, she's the best.

(And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for the inclement weather we're about to face... Oops.)_  
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_An express from Pemberley to Longbourn, March 6th 1813_

_Dear Jane,_

_I am sure you will excuse me for the short & incoherent form of this missive – I received yours a little more than an hour ago and have hardly recovered from the shock of it all. Lydia, eloped? With Mr. Wickham? How can it have happened? You need not tell me, of course, for I know exactly how. It is my fault, all of it. If only I had exposed to Papa the whole truth about Mr. Wickham, instead of vague warnings about the officers not being suitable company for our sisters!_

_My husband sits across from me, supposedly composing an express to Papa, but it seems that so far he has spent more time sighing & looking exceedingly gloomy than writing. With every shake of his head and with every contraction of his brow, I can see my power sinking. And why should it not, under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace? How frivolous the letter I sent you on Monday now seems._

_But I should not be burdening you with my selfish concerns, not when I am sure that you are already carrying far more than your share of vexations. Dear, dear Jane. How I wish that I had the words to comfort you. Perhaps it will cheer you to know that my husband intends to assist in the search of our harebrained sister? To be sure, he is well-known for his ability to save wayward young Hertfordshire ladies from the grips of a scandal, so perhaps all is not yet lost._

_I have enclosed a small box of hartshorn for Mama. I thought that the knowledge it came from the antlers of the finest deer in Pemberley might increase its effect on her – and perhaps lessen the attention her nerves require of you. Mrs. Reynolds assures me that it once saved Parker from death's door. (He had, apparently, made the mistake of trying to cure a minor headache with a potion manufactured by the cook and had later been found quite unconscious in the pantry! How unfortunate that Mr. Wickham seems to have escaped all the ill effects of the cook's remedies while he lived here, do you not agree?)_

_I will close now, for it appears that my husband has finally committed to paper everything that he wishes to say to Papa. (What it is, other than his offer of assistance, I hardly dare ask.) Do take care of yourself & remember that you have my love, always._

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, March 7th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_Do you remember how Hill always used to say that no adversity ever seems quite as daunting once you have slept on it? I have always suspected that there was not much truth to the matter, and now I am convinced of it. If I was grieved by this business with Lydia yesterday, it was nothing compared to my feelings on the matter this morning._

_The succession of hail & sleet has turned in to a veritable snowstorm and very few traces of spring remain. My husband left for London early this morning, but looking out of the windows, I hope that he has not travelled far and is well sheltered in some nearby inn even as I write. It seems incomprehensible that only two days ago we were walking in these halls, my hand quite inseparable from his, making plans to become the happiest couple in the world. A stolen kiss in the nook at the top of the grand staircase or an exuberant giggle trying the patience of the staid portraits in the gallery now seem like distant dreams at best._

_I have been going through my correspondence from these past weeks and months, trying to determine if there was some hint somewhere of Lydia's partiality to Wickham, but have found none. She mentioned him twice or thrice in passing before I sent my letter of warning to Papa and after that, not once. If I should have made a guess based only on her letters to me, I could have just as soon believed that she has run away with Harriet Wright's Parisian shawl (which, according to Charlotte, did not travel to England in the hands of a dashing smuggler, but was acquired from the marketplace in Brent Pelham when Harriet last visited her aunt) for she has spoken of it far more often and a great deal more fondly than she ever has of the man she intends to marry._

_Oh, dear sister, I would not wish to shock you, but I fear for a disaster of even greater proportions than we have thus far imagined. A thought so vile has occurred to me that I can scarcely put it to words for the fear of its being true. Apart from the missives I have received from you, every single letter I have had from Longbourn lately has carried some mention of the misfortune that has befallen Mr. Brown's daughter. Do you suppose it might be possible that the child is Mr. Wickham's?_

_I have sat here a good half an hour, contemplating what I have just written, and the more I think of it, the more afraid I am that it is indeed the truth of what has happened. Dear, foolish Lydia! What is to become of her? A girl disgraced and abandoned by a philandering libertine or the wife of one? Oh! No, no – every feeling revolts!_

_I am afraid, dear sister, my gloomy suspicions have put you out of sleep for at least a fortnight, and for that I beg your forgiveness – and recommend that you burn my letter as soon as you have read it. As soon as the weather shows any signs of improvement, I will send an express to my husband and convey my fears to him as best I can. By the time he has read it, I expect he will wish he had never set foot in Hertfordshire, for such must be the disgrace of perchance having to call a man like Wickham a brother. My husband is a good man and I am sure he will do what he can to aid our sister – but the selfish being that I am, I cannot but wonder if, no matter how the situation is resolved, Lydia's lapse of judgment will have cost me my happiness?_

_With a heavy heart, your loving sister,_

_E.D._

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_Pemberley House, March 12th 1813_

_Dear Jane,_

_An express arrived from my husband early this morning, telling that he had arrived to London in relatively good time despite the weather and was setting out to meet Papa and Uncle at Gracechurch Street. The letter was the epitome of short and formal, and like a fool I am hanging all my hopes on three poor, little words that seemed very lost amidst their rigid companions – in the beginning of the letter he had named me 'dearest' and at the end of it he assured me that he was mine always &c. I am sure he would use the very same phrases even if he was writing to his Great Aunt Althea; yet, I hope against hope that there is more to them than simple politeness and courtesy._

_I received your letter yesterday and can only apologise for not penning a reply sooner – I confess that I wrote to you on the seventh, but the letter turned out so horrendously gloomy that I could not sleep at night, knowing that it waited down the stairs to be posted the next morning, and thus stalked down in the dead of night to retrieve the depressing missive and to toss it into the nearest fireplace. I advise you to not feel slighted for never receiving it, for it contained nothing but the most depressing musings on the situation of our sister and Mr. Wickham and, apart from a short description of the true origins of Harriet Wright's famed Parisian shawl, would only have served to needlessly distress you. (At present, I have decided to tell you nothing more about the shawl, for I am sure that pondering this Great Mystery will provide you with at least a moment's distraction from what has happened with Lydia!)_

_I would not worry overmuch for Mama's determination to stay in her chamber – she will have to come down eventually and meanwhile, perhaps her bed rest will offer some much needed rest for you all. And it is most convenient that the ladies of the neighbourhood are prevented from meeting her when they come to call; the less they know about Lydia's situation the better. I am sure that Mama could not help but divulge every sordid detail were she fit to receive callers. Kitty, I would hope, will know better than to spread her vast knowledge of the affair to our acquaintances, though in light of recent events there is reason to suspect her good sense and discretion. I am of a mind to pen her a long, angry letter, but then I imagine that you and Papa have already said your share to her, and I would likely have very little to add. I have gone through my correspondence with Lydia, trying to ascertain if there are some signs in her letters of her partiality to Mr. Wickham, but have found none. It seems obvious that she has been far more forthcoming towards Kitty than she has been towards the rest of us._

_Miss Darcy has been quite downcast since she learned of Lydia's plight. She has even suggested that what has transpired is somehow her fault, but I have determinedly tried to uproot all such thoughts. Braving the inclement weather, we went for a walk yesterday afternoon, and she told me more about her dealings with Mr. W. By the time we crossed the bridge over the stream, I was feeling so resentful towards him & his deceitful ways that steam was quite blowing out of my ears. By the time we passed the orangery, both Miss Darcy and myself were in tears. And by the time we were ambling towards the stables, we were so uniformly desolate and miserable that it was only the timely appearance of Samuel Reynolds, chasing after one of my husband's dogs (which seemed to amuse him and distress the poor hound in equal measures) that helped us up from the depths of despair we had sunk into._

_Dear, dear Jane. Let us be brave in the face of this new adversity. We have already weathered one scandal in the past year – surely there is only so much that this new turn of events can add to our notoriety? I know your heart as you know mine and worry for the distress the circumstances are causing you. Do not lose hope (yes, this is an order – now despise me if you dare!). However things will unfold, I am convinced that between the three of them, Papa, Uncle and my husband will find a way to make the best of an unfortunate situation._

_Give my love etc. to Mary, Mama and Kitty – though I do not mind if you sprinkle Kitty's portion with a bit of reproach. As ever, you are in my thoughts and prayers._

_With love, always,_

_E.D._

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* Hartshorn: the scrapings of the horn or antler of red deer (hart) containing ammonia, which powdered or distilled was carried about in decorative little bottles or perforated silver boxes and used as a smelling salt for fainting spells. (This information is the courtesy of The Cambridge Edition of Sense & Sensibility, brought to you via the incomparable Regency Encyclopedia.)

* A large-scale embargo, starting from 1806 and ending in 1814 after Napoleon's first abdication, aiming to prevent all trade with Britain and continental Europe was an essential part of French foreign policy during the Napoleonic Wars. The embargo, largely made ineffective by industrious smugglers and the fact that Britain held naval dominance, had consequences far more grand and interesting than the fact that Harriet Wright was unlikely to own an actual Parisian shawl – if you like, read more about the continental system in Wikipedia.

* Discussing Lydia's disgrace, Elizabeth is paraphrasing Emma's feelings on the idea of Miss Fairfax becoming the mistress of Donwell Abbey – every feeling revolts.


	11. Chapter 11

Only two months instead of three this time, I'm picking up the pace as we near the end... As always, thanks to Gayle for her grammar expertise and to the rest of you for your patience. :)_  
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_Pemberley House, March 16th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_How good you are to assure that I have something to laugh at even at a time like this. If only I had been there to witness the turn of Mrs. Thompson's countenance when Charlotte told her that there is nothing more scandalous than a young lady who takes delight in spreading malicious gossip about her friends. My only regret is that Mrs. T had not thought to bring Lettice with her on her visit. Dear, dear Charlotte!_

_In Derbyshire, too, it seems a truth universally acknowledged that visitors abound when you least wish for them. It seems to make little difference to the ladies of the neighbourhood that Miss Darcy and I are not supposed to be at home for visitors and that the weather is exceedingly poor these days – we had four ladies call on us yesterday morning alone. Do you think it possible that they can actually smell a scandal? If so, perhaps I should recommend my husband to leave his hounds home the next time he goes hunting and to take Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Tallis, Miss Tallis & the dowager baroness of Sinclair with him instead? With such an apt sense of smell, they might be of remarkable benefit to the hunting party._

_This morning brought only two callers – Mrs. Kingston & her eldest daughter – but they were so persistent that I am sure that the effort we extended to entertain them would have sufficed for six or seven visitors of a less persevering nature. They stayed with us for two whole hours, and I was starting to wonder if they were hoping for an invitation to dine with us; Mr. Kingston, I hear, has gone to Derby on business and I can well imagine that a loquacious lady like Mrs. Kingston is feeling the shortage of attentive ears around her dinner table keenly. _

_On any ordinary day, dinner with Mrs. and Miss Kingston would have seemed like a pleasant prospect. I do enjoy Mrs. Kingston's company, and Miss Kingston, much like Miss Darcy, is a shy, sweet girl. I have tried to encourage my sister to spend more time with her, for I believe that they might make great friends – that is, if they ever manage to say two words to each other before Mr. Kingston's gouty foot forces the entire Kingston family to remove to Bath permanently. But I do not feel I possess the equanimity these days to smile and laugh and discuss the weather over pudding. My thoughts are too full of this business with Lydia to leave room for anything else._

_I received a letter from Aunt M yesterday. As I am sure you already know, it is now absolutely certain that Lydia & Mr. Wickham have not gone to Scotland but are staying in some unfortunate corner of London. According to Aunt M, my husband has spoken to a lady who has some connection to Mr. Wickham and there is hope that our sister will soon be found. I am relieved to know this, and yet, pettily upset that it was through Aunt M and not my husband that I heard of these things. He does not write. Miss Darcy has tried to convince me that it is only because he is such a poor correspondent in general, but I cannot help it – I worry when I do not hear from him._

_At the oddest hours of the day, I find myself feeling angry. With whom, depends on the hour. With myself, often enough, when I think that I could have prevented all this from happening with a single letter explaining Wickham's past dealings. With Mama & Papa, at times, because they have not done more to curtail our sister's wild ways. With my husband, on occasion but never for long, because he does not write. With Lydia and Mr. Wickham, all of the time. Their heedless, inconsiderate behaviour has hurt everyone around them. Her youth must be her excuse, but for him, I can offer none._

_Do excuse my foul mood, dear sister; I will try to think of happier thoughts when I next write. If nothing else works, I will read your delightful description of Mrs. Thompson's expression again and again until I have laughed enough to make my stomach hurt._

_Please give my love &c. to everyone at L, and especially to yourself and a certain gentleman at N – that he is still there, still by your side despite what I am sure have been numerous demands from his sisters to return to Town, has endeared him to me even more, if such a thing is possible._

_Yours in affection,_

_E.D._

_P.S. Do take care to tell Mama that a baroness has called on me – perhaps that will keep her thoughts away from the hedgerows?_

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_Pemberley House, March 19th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_I am sure your sentiments at the moment bear great resemblance to mine – thank goodness, they have been found! A rider arrived not half an hour ago, with an express letter from my husband. Miss Darcy, Mrs. A and I had retired early this evening, and I was already fast asleep when my maid came to wake me. Now, of course, I cannot even think of sleeping._

_That Lydia must marry a man like Mr. W is undoubtedly a disaster of Grand Proportions, yet I cannot help but feel relieved. Perhaps they will find a way to be happy in time, despite the inauspicious circumstances that necessitated the marriage? (As you can see, dear sister, I am trying very hard to adopt some of your philosophy – and the effort is making me appreciate your good nature all the more.)_

_My husband's letter, as before, was short and to the point. He explained to me that he had found our sister and told me that there had been no other recourse but marriage. On the last line of the short note, however, hid a most unexpected sentiment – his parting words were that he hoped that in time I might forgive him. I am not sure what he wishes me to forgive, for it is certainly not his fault that our sister has thrown herself into the power of Mr. Wickham! And if arranging a marriage was the only recourse to remedying the situation, it was hardly his doing. I can only hope that he will return home soon and I can find out what he is about – considering his curt & cryptic writing habits, it might take us a decade to sort this matter out through correspondence, and I am far too impatient to wait that long._

_Outside, a relentless rain is slowly but steadily sweeping away the last remnants of the snowstorm we had a fortnight ago. The storm looks to have been the last effort of winter to prevail – spring seems determined to arrive and I will happily welcome it. I do not remember ever experiencing another winter quite so cold and erratic in its ways as this one has been. Then again, perhaps it is the unpredictable ebb and flow of my own life that has made it seem so? Do you suppose that for the next one-and-twenty years we might have nothing but mild weather and placid winds? I am tired of all things tempestuous._

_I will close now & see if sleep will find me. In a few short weeks we will depart to London – I hope you will consider visiting with us for a good length of time during the summer months? I confess that I am a little nervous about our stay in Town and can think of nothing that would comfort me better than your presence. And, more importantly, I miss you dreadfully. How long has it been since we last held hands and shared a laugh? I hardly wish to count._

_Give my love etc. to everyone at home – let us hope that Mary has no plans to elope with the vicar and that there will be some peace again at L once Lydia has married._

_Your affectionate sister,_

_E.D._

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	12. Chapter 12

A year and a month is how long it took me to finish this little story, but now it's done. I was twenty-nine when I started writing and tomorrow I'll be thirty-one. Thank you to everyone who has read and commented and patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) waited for me to update - I couldn't have done it without your encouragement. And above all, as always, I want to thank Gayle (scmema), my beta superstar. She's the best.

Three more letters to come, I sure hope you'll like them. Don't forget to leave me a comment at the end, you know you want to:)

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_Pemberley House, March 25th 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_It is a day for letters – I have received one from you, one from Charlotte, one from Aunt M and one from Mama. The sage young lady that I am, I saved yours for the last, and a blessed thing it was that I did, for it provided just the sort of balm one needs in order to rally after reading two full pages of Mama's plans for Lydia's upcoming wedding. Her foremost aim in writing to me seems to have been to assure that my husband and I would arrive to Town in time to host the wedding breakfast – a notion I am afraid I must disabuse her of as soon as I may. I sincerely doubt that my husband will ever allow Mr. W to set foot in his home. And even if I thought that he might, I am sure I would never ask it of him._

_My husband is to return to P the day after tomorrow. Determined not to let his curt missives intimidate me, I penned him a long letter in response to his recent express, conveying both my sincere gratitude for his once again performing a great service to our family, as well as my hope that he might return to P sooner rather than later. In reply, we had another short-worded express from him, informing us that there was some dire matter of business that he would have to take care of, but that he expected to arrive to P on the 27th. He had blotted over the last words of the letter, which was surprising, as he is nothing if not fastidious._

_To prepare for his return, Miss Darcy, Mrs. Annesley and I have decided that we are to do tomorrow everything that we had planned to do on the day after it. That way we will be able to spend the entire morning of the 27th looking out of the windows for any sign of his carriage, and the rest of the day either chatting merrily with him (Miss D & Mrs. A) or trying to interpret every move of his head & every twitch of his brow to decide his mood (myself). My wretched heart thumps quite nervously in anticipation of his arrival, and my head is far too full of foolish thoughts for my liking._

_Inspired by little Samuel Reynolds, who happened upon me in the park some three days ago, I have (with more than a little help from Mrs. Annesley, I have to admit, for my first attempts turned out quite atrocious) embroidered my husband a set of new handkerchiefs that carry his initials and a very clever pattern of two dragonflies below them. I am quite proud of my achievements and hope he will like them – if nothing else, they should save him from the trouble of borrowing handkerchiefs from his sister!_

_Embroidery, at least, is an art in which I can boast some improvement. Miss Darcy and Mrs. A have more than once tried to include me in their pursuits of decorating various objects with filigree, but I confess that I am quite appalling at it – I can roll papers charmingly, but that is as far as my talents go. I am afraid that the Very Accomplished ladies in Town will find me woefully inadequate and will spend many a summer afternoon in various parlors, drinking tea and discussing my husband's odd choice of a wife._

_Charlotte's letter contained the news of the Brown family. Were you as astonished as I? But of course, you must have been, for who could have foreseen such a solution? East Indies! And to think that I once thought that Derbyshire was at the end of the world. I had thought that the family's most exotic acquaintance would have been Mrs. Brown's relatives in Shropshire, but Charlotte tells me that Mr. Brown is acquainted with a colonel in His Majesty's Army, who has connections in the East India Company. How extraordinary, do you not agree? But then, to escape a scandal, I am sure that the East Indies are just the Place To Be. It seems unlikely that even the most determined gossips of Meryton could spread the news quite that far. I can only hope the winds are favourable & that the Browns will arrive to their destination soon and unharmed._

_Equally astounding, I think, is the information I have from Aunt M on Mr. Wickham's resolution to quit the Militia. Aunt tells me that it is his intention to go into the regulars once the wedding has taken place. Apparently, he has the promise of an ensigncy in a regiment now quartered in the North. With the number of debts I am sure he has left behind him in every town and every county he has visited of late, I am surprised that he would still have friends willing to help him with such matters! It all seems so conveniently arranged, that I am inclined to think that mischief of the best kind is afoot. I have my suspicions on the matter, but since that is all they are as of yet, I will say no more at present._

_I will close now, for Miss Darcy has come to announce that we are to practice a duet to perform to my husband once he arrives. It is a charming idea, to be sure, and will certainly make her talent on the piano forte appear in the best possible light – I can see myself already, desperately trying to fumble through a piece with some small semblance of grace, my fingers shaking under the unnerving gaze of my husband. How are the mighty fallen!_

_Give all my love to everyone at L – someone must have it, if my husband should not._

_Affectionately your Most Gloomy & Rather Impatient sister,_

_E.D._

_:-:-:-:_

_Pemberley House, March 28th, 1813_

_My dearest Jane,_

_At length the day is come on which I am to fight my last with my husband. I expect to be well scolded when I tell you this, but it seems that I have worried you with my bleak suspicions for naught. All is well. So very, very well that I hardly know how to put it into words. But for your sake I shall try. (See, I am vain enough to think that your happiness depends on a thorough knowledge of the trifling minutiae of my life!)_

_My husband arrived home yesterday afternoon – to our surprise, he came on horseback, and arrived at the house so soon after he had been sighted that I barely had time to compose myself. Which was just as well, as there was very little chance of my being able to compose myself in any case. Other than his fretful wife, everyone was well-prepared for his arrival. The sun was shining, bright and unabashed. The servants stood in line outside the front door, ready to greet him. Even little Samuel had made his way to the end of the line, which managed to amuse me even in my nervous state, for he was at least a good two feet shorter than the footman next to him, but every bit as grave and solemn._

_Miss Darcy was standing next to me, nothing remotely solemn in her appearance, and I must admit that I was a little envious of her excitement – I was too agitated to feel anything of the sort. I had longed for my husband's return, but when I saw him, my longing swiftly turned into dread. How could I bear it if I had forever lost his affections? But of course, I had lost nothing of the sort, and felt remarkably foolish and melodramatic afterwards for ever allowing myself to think so._

_When he got off his horse, I could naught but look at him. He looked like a man who had travelled quite a distance, to be sure, but so much had I longed to see him that even the specks of mud on his cheek seemed dear to me. But he did not look at me. He nodded to the servants, exchanged a few words with Parker and kissed his sister's cheek. Only then, was it my turn. He seemed to look right past me, mumbling my name by way of greeting, and my chest tightened with disappointment at his cold manner. But then, he bent down to kiss my cheek, and I felt his nose brush my cheek, his lips lingering a few moments longer than perhaps was necessary. Just as I thought that I might very likely faint like the most missish of misses, he exhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath, and quickly stepped back._

_Oh, Jane. The moment was so fleeting that it might easily have been nothing more than a figment of my imagination. But it was enough – I found myself looking up at his dear face, hoping as I had scarcely allowed myself to hope before. In return, he offered me his hand, and I took it, pleased as Punch when he twined his fingers through mine. _

_When we went inside and Parker offered to take his coat, my husband took a look at our hands, joined together, and said that he had rather keep it on. I dare say Parker looked appalled at the thought of the muddy garment entering any of our finely decorated rooms, and whilst all he said was 'very good, sir,' I am sure he did not think it a Very Good Plan at all. Oh, dear sister. I jest because I do not know what else to write. How does one put happiness on paper? Is there a word to describe that strange mixture of utter calm & complete unrest that one feels when in the presence of a loved one? If there is, I do not know it._

_See, you have caught me. After all these years, your all-knowing sister has finally run out of wit. From now on, my letters shall be equal parts saccharine & trite, without a single clever sentence in sight. A few months from now, if you were to compare a letter from me to a letter from our dear cousin, Mr. Collins, I am sure you could not tell one from the other!_

_Should I tell you of the Very Serious Conversation we had in my husband's study? Of the awkward moment when we each tried to apologise to the other at once? Like me, he was blaming himself because he had not done more to assure that Mr. W did not try his old tricks again. Should I try to describe the consummate happiness that overtook me when he knelt in front of me, took my hands in his and told me that while our union might not have had the best of starts, for many, many weeks now he had thought of little else than my happiness? Or attempt to make you blush with too many details of the tender kiss that inevitably followed?_

_Very well, I will spare your sensibilities and close now; we shall save my meagre efforts of explaining for later. It is as well that I should close, for my husband has awakened and seems determined to have my undivided attention. He and I have had our share of grievances and petty arguments, and perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself._

_I started this year more bitter than I have ever been in my life, my heart full of resentment over what had happened; feeling ill-used by our gossipy friends in general & Lettice in particular. But from this day forward, I promise never to be bitter again. I have forgiven them all. After all, for what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?_

_Affectionately yours,_

_E.D.  
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_:-:-:-:_

_A letter to Miss Lettice Thompson, Meryton, Hertfordshire_

_Pemberley House, March 29th, 1813_

_Dear Miss Thompson,_

_Do allow me to express my sincere apologies for not penning this missive sooner – I am sure that you have been wondering these many months why I have not yet thanked you for the fine service you have done to me. As I know you to be a Great Advocate of Honesty, I feel it my duty to admit that I did not at first see your actions in the light I am sure you always meant them. I was resentful, and for that I humbly apologise. I can see now that you were a true friend who only had my very best interest at heart._

_I know it will please you exceedingly to hear that my husband and I are on the best possible terms and have every plan to become quite the happiest couple in the world. The house & the grounds here at Pemberley are everything that is charming – if so very vast that I still must admit to losing my way every now and then – and my new sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, is a delightful young lady. In a few days, we are to remove to London for the duration of the Season. I hope you will join me in my sincere hope that I should not stumble on the train of my gown when I am presented at Court._

_To be quite frank, I did not know such happiness existed. And to think that if it were not for your timely interference, my husband and I might never have married! I will only add, God bless you, & I hope that you might soon experience similar felicity yourself._

_Most __sincerely yours &c.,_

_Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy_

_P.S. My cousin has a parsonage of no mean size in Hunsford, Kent. He is quite Single and Unattached. Perhaps, if you ever travel thither, you might make his acquaintance? My venerable Aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, resides in close proximity to the parsonage. Like yourself, she is a selfless, unassuming lady who always has the best interest of others at heart – I am sure that you would get along charmingly._

_:-:-:-:_

_**THE END**  
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* In Sense and Sensibility, during an evening at Barton Bark, Elinor Dashwood aids Lucy Steele in making a paper filigree basket to Annamaria Middleton. Google 'paper filigree' plus 'Austen' and you'll get a link to Austenonly where there's more information and some cool examples of filigree work.

* The start of the second letter is a modified quote from Jane Austen's letter to her sister Cassandra, dated January 14th 1796: _"At length the Day is come on which I am to flirt my last with Tom Lefroy, & when you receive this it will be over – My tears flow as I write, at the melancholy idea."_

* This second to last footnote is a late addition, added well after the story was finished. When I was younger, among my favorite novels were the Anne of Green Gables series - I've read each several times, though not in English. I had neither realised it nor intended it, but a few astute readers have pointed out moments of this story that owe a debt to L.M. Montgomery, in spirit, if nothing else. I'm more than happy to pay that debt - I grew up with Anne, Gilbert and friends and if any of L.M. Montgomery's wonderful wit and warm-hearted humour has rubbed off on my writing, however unwittingly, I'm glad to give recognition where it's due. :)

* I have tried to be diligent with my footnotes during this story, explaining little details and sources of quotes and such. However, as anyone can tell, I have quoted _Pride and Prejudice_ several times during the story with little concern for footnotes. As this is the last chapter, I'll make one exception: The last line of the second letter – and the last "official" line of the story – about making sport for neighbours is a direct quote from Chapter 57. The rest of the many, many borrowed words and passages I leave for the reader to find – now despise me if you dare.


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